Our Last Summer
by oncethrown
Summary: Summer Fic. Blaine and Kurt navigate first love. Puck contemplates life without Lauren. Finn clings to Rachel. Santana tries to rebuild. Brittany goes to Iceland. Mike and Tina encounter thier future. Rachel finally does community theater.
1. Another Crab Rangoon

Blaine dug his toes into the hard dirt under the swing set, shifting in the too small swing. For some reason, his parents, who were meticulous about the house, weren't all that concerned about the fenced in yard and despite the fact that Blaine had been too big for the slightly weather beaten swing set for years, they had never taken it down.

He pushed himself back in the swing and lifted his legs, letting himself swing forward just a little ways before stopping himself again.

Today was the perfect first day of summer vacation. Everything about today had been practically _designed_ for lying in the grass with his headphones on and picking shapes out of the clouds, being blissfully unoccupied for a day. That was almost exactly how Blaine had spent his first day of summer vacation for years. It was a ritual.

Once it had started to get warm, he had started having little fantasies about that ritual including Kurt. The two of them lying together in the backyard, Kurt's head resting on his arm or chest, while they talked, maybe kissing lazily in the sunshine with, their bare arms brushing over each other. Taking a little break when Blaine's mom brought out lemonade, and sipping it while they discussed their epic victory at Nationals and whispered about all the perfect romantic things they had done together in New York.

None of the details of the fantasy were really all that realistic. Getting Kurt to lie in the grass was out of the question. And Blaine had never (even the time Mr. Hummel and Carol hadn't realized Blaine was in the house and had left the boys alone for a couple hours) ever seen Kurt in less than a long sleeve, collared shirt with two buttons undone.

Then obviously if they were going to be together it would have to be in Kurt's back yard, not in Blaine's. Carol was more likely to bring them Kool-Aid than lemonade, unless Kurt had made some earlier.

But laying on a blanket, with Kurt fully covered up, possibly griping about sun damage and spraying himself with sunscreen while they drank Kool-Aid would have been a perfect summer day too.

But Kurt was currently at Nationals without him, and would be until The New Directions got back Tuesday night. And Kurt was at McKinley now, and they still had school until Thursday.

Blaine's phone buzzed in his pocket and he jumped and pulled it out immediately, grinning to himself when he saw the picture of Kurt on the screen.

_You are going to shit a brick when you find out who Rachel met. At Sardies. WITH FINN._

Blaine quirks his head.

_Since when do you say things like shit a brick?_

A moment passes

_When I calm down enough to tell you, you'll realize why I'm justified. _

Blaine waits for a minute, but Kurt has apparently been swept off into something exciting enough to justify the use of scatological phrasing.

He slumps a little bit in his swing, then turns his ringer volume up and goes inside to get his Ipod so that he can lay in the grass and look at the clouds.

He's done this alone every year, and there's a whole summer ahead for him and Kurt.

* * *

><p>"I'm going to have another crab rangoon," Burt said triumphantly, plucking the sodium and fat soaked treat from the little wax paper bag it had come in and dropping it right into equally greasy, sodium-y lo mien.<p>

"Kurt keeps you on a pretty short leash with this diet thing," Carol laughed.

"Well, he's right. I mean, Chinese every once in a while isn't gonna finish me off, but I should have been listening to him before it ever happened… the heart attack. Which the little shit makes sure to remind me whenever he gets a chance." Burt was exasperated, but fond.

"Don't worry. We'll keep this our little secret. When the boys get back from New York it'll go right back to fruit, oatmeal and skinless chicken with rice," Carol smiles and squeezes Burt's hand.

"It's weird having the kids gone like this. I was starting to get used to having the three of them running all over the place, instead of just having Kurt skulking around in the basement."

Carol chuckles, "Did you just refer to Blaine as our third kid?"

"I just mean he's around a lot."

"And you like having him around," Carol teases, "You like Kurt's boyfriend, you approve."

Burt sinks back into his chair, grinning reluctantly. "Well, you know, he doesn't exactly make a great first impression… but he's an okay kid. But maybe I don't want to go into summer vacation with him knowing I think that. We don't need a house full of seventeen year olds thinking they get away with things while we're at work."

"Oh, I don't think you have to worry about Kurt and Blaine."

"Yeah, well, I remember how much trouble I got into the summer before my senior year. And I remember being a hormonal seventeen year old with a car."

"And do you remember how many rules your parents set up that you broke anyway?"

"Well… at that point, and considering the guys I knew? It was more like "don't crash a car or knock anybody up, see you at dinner"."

"And Kurt's already got that covered."

"That's not funny, Carol."

"It is when you spent a chunk of the last year thinking you were going to be a grandmother."

Burt nodded in sort of a touche gesture.

"They're seventeen. We can't babysit them all the time. I think we can trust our kids," she cracked a smile. "All three of them. And we could set up some ground rules. I'd like to see Finn working at the shop with you a couple days a week, just so he doesn't sit around playing video games and emptying the fridge. Unless that's going to be a sore spot with Kurt?

"I can take Finn to the shop." Burt shrugged. "A guy should know how to do some basic car stuff, and Kurt grew up in that shop. He can change a tire in his sleep- without getting his clothes dirty. I don't think he'll care, and if he does… there's still a ton of heart healthy stuff he wants to teach me to make."

"Maybe we should have Blaine's parents over for dinner or something," Carol said. "I mean Blaine practically lives here. And the closest we've come to meeting his parents is talking to Diane on the phone to let her know the kids were home from prom. Plus it sounds like Diane is home during the day. I mean, if you're that worried about things getting out of hand, maybe the rules could just be that they stay over there during the day."

Burt cleared his throat, "Uh… I'm not sure about that."

"Why not? I bet Kurt has the perfect fancy meal for meeting the parents planned out already, and I always wished I had known Quinn Fabre's or Rachel Berry's parents better when Finn was dating those girls. Especially considering everything that happened with Quinn. It would have been easier to talk to them if I'd spoken to them for more than five seconds at a PTA meeting one time. I once talked to Rachel Berry's father in line at the grocery store for five minutes before she ran up and I realized who he was because I didn't expect her father to be black. And then it got awkward. I've never even heard anything about her mother."

Burt chuckled. "Rachel Berry has two fathers."

Carol's eyebrows jumped. "Oh." She shook her head. "See, I didn't even know that. The next time Finn starts dating Rachel we should have them over too."

"I'm not so sure about Blaine's parents."

"I know they're probably… you know… a little hoighty toighty, but Blaine's a good kid, I'm sure they're nice people and if Blaine's going to be here all summer I'd like to know them, at least a little."

Burt stabbed a fork into his lo-mien, "I think… I mean I get the impression, that uh… Blaine doesn't have it real easy at home?"

"What do you mean?"

Burt shrugged uncomfortably, "Blaine came by the shop a couple months ago to talk to me about giving Kurt, you know… the talk."

Carol snorted. "Really? Why didn't you tell me that?"

"Because it was awkward enough. And then I actually did talk to Kurt and it was even worse. So I was kinda done with the whole mess. Anyway, the gist was that Blaine told me he didn't really get along with his father and his dad made him help build a car in the driveway to make him…straight. So basically I needed to talk to Kurt because… I could."

"Oh." Carol said softly. "Poor kid."

"That's… why I don't mind them being here all of the time. I'd rather have them both here, singing show tunes _all of the way through_ sports center," Burt rolls his eyes, "than have Kurt… around that."

Carol leaned over in her chair and kissed Burt just at the corner of his mouth, "Have I told you lately that you're a good man and that I am so glad I married you?"

"You've mentioned it, yeah." Burt smiled.

"I don't remember the last time I mentioned it when we didn't have three teenagers in the house though."

"That's true."

"Finish your crab rangoon and brush your teeth. I'll meet you upstairs."

* * *

><p>"Yes. Absolutely. You are right. A meeting with Patti Lupone being wasted on Finn is totally worth the phrase "shit a brick"," Blaine laughed.<p>

"I knew you'd see it that way. Have you ever been to New York before?" Kurt asked, with a little bit of a yawn. It had been a longer day than expected.

"Not unless watching Breakfast at Tiffany's four times in a row counts," Blaine laughed.

Kurt laughed and huddled his knees a little closer to his chest, the leather of the chair squeaking underneath him. After his disastrous attempt to talk to Blaine over the girls kissing and cooing noises two nights ago, and the entirely unnerving way three members of rival choirs (two girls, one guy) had raked their eyes over him when he'd been sitting outside his room in his pajamas last night, Kurt had found a little public lounge on the other side of the hallway. It was over air conditioned though, and his summer pajamas weren't quite enough to keep him warm.

"Why did you once watch Breakfast at Tiffany's four times in a row?"

"My mom put it in for me when I had my wisdom teeth out and I was too drugged up to get off the couch and change it myself, so I watched it over and over again until she came home. So no. Not really? What's it like?"

"Loud," Kurt answered, "Bright. A little scary, but just completely amazing. I think I've seen everything in every movie…ever. There's just… theater and art everywhere. I snuck out to the fashion district today- you wouldn't even believe the fabric stores here Blaine. It's insane. I mean really, truly, completely insane."

"Aren't you guys supposed to be staying in the hotel?"

"Yeah. Mr. Shue's ex high school crush, that according to Coach Sylvester, keeps winding up in his apartment all night, is trying to tempt him to stay and do a Broadway show about what a lush she is, and he and Vocal Adrenaline coach keep having this wannabe macho showdowns, so it's like he's completely forgotten we're even here. We can get away with anything. Puck and Lauren are downstairs drinking their third Manhattan as we speak."

"Awesome. So you're having a good time?"

"It's… I feel like I'm in every fairy tale I ever told myself," Kurt said, feeling his cheeks flush at the admission , suddenly embarrassed that he had said it. "Is that stupid?"

"No," Blaine answered immediately, "That's not stupid at all."

"I'm thinking about checking out NYU or Julliard before we go back."

"Wow. Really?"

"Yeah. I mean… I'm here… and, really, Blaine it's incredible here."

"I could see myself at NYU."

"Really?" Kurt yawned, louder this time.

"Should I let you go?" Blaine asked.

"No, not yet," Kurt said, "Is anything interested happening in Ohio?"

Blaine laughed, "See, if I tell you that you will fall asleep."

"Come one, there must be something."

"Okay… I lined up an audition for six flags."

Kurt chuckled. "Is there an outfit with that?"

"There might be," Blaine allowed.

"I'll have to google it."

"You want to help me pick out audition songs when you get back?"

"Of course," Kurt yawned louder this time.

"Okay, you're exhausted, you've got amazing fairy-tale fun to have in the morning. Go to bed Kurt, I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Okay," Kurt sighed, hauling himself out of the chair and stretching his legs a little bit, "I miss you."

"I miss you too," Blaine said, sounding strangely breathless.

"I'll call you tomorrow."

"Okay. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Kurt said, stopping in front of his and the girl's door and digging into his robe pocket for his key.

"Wait, Kurt?"

"Yeah?"

"I… I miss you."

Kurt smiled to himself, "You just said that."

"I know. I just…"

"Miss me?"

"Yeah. I need to go to bed too. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Blaine."

* * *

><p>The team, minus Rachel, who was too much of a mess, Finn who was too much of a guilty mess, and Santana who was too much of a hot angry mess, went directly to Breadstix after the bus dropped them off at school. They ordered a bunch of appetizers to share, passing them around the table in circles as they fumed about how upset they were, how much better they were than Vocal Adrenaline this year, how much they deserved this, and just how many asses they would kick and names they would take next year.<p>

Quinn left first, after staring blankly at the ravioli on her plate and gnawing listlessly on a breadstick for about 10 minutes.

Then Kurt, eager to talk to Blaine and annoyed that no one would join in on his attempts to lighten the conversation by pointing out that they were probably the only losers in Lima that had ever even been to New York, had gotten up, pointedly brushed off his clothes, which Mercedes had noticed were new, but hadn't yet complimented him on, and left, humming.

Then Artie's dad picked him, Puck and Lauren up. Then Mike had to be home, and offered Sam a ride home with him, Brittany and Tina.

Sam and Mercedes flicked each other a look over the table and Sam told Mike he was just going to finish off the chicken strips. Mercedes said she would take him home.

Mercedes watched Sam's eyes track Mike and the girls out of the door, waiting until the door closed behind Brittany before he looked back at her and let out a breath through his grin, which Mercedes echoed.

"Wow," Sam laughed. "You were right."

"Yeah. Glee Club didn't need any more drama during competition," Mercedes sighed. "I think, for the sake of sanity, next year we should require that Rachel stay single for the month before after competition."

"Yeah, we'll make Blaine and Kurt escort her everywhere," Sam chuckled quietly.

"See, now I thought you liked Kurt and Blaine," Mercedes agreed.

Sam scoffs and there's a small pause.

"So… can we talk about it now, or do you want to get some sleep and talk at school tomorrow?" Sam asked cautiously.

Mercedes considered for a moment. She was exhausted, and expected to be home soon, and this might be a long conversation, but they would never get a moment alone at school tomorrow.

"I've got curfew soon," she told him, "Let's talk about it in the car?"

"Okay."

They paid their respective bills on the way out and walked to Mercedes's car in the slightly chilly, humid May air. Mercedes lead, surprised at how quickly her feet seemed to be carrying her to her car.

She shouldn't have been surprised though, not with as long as they had been putting this conversation off. It would have taken a miracle for Rachel, or Finn, or Kurt, or any of the rest of them to go as much as five seconds after kissing someone to assume they were dating and then tell everyone and get all… theatrical about it. She and Sam had agreed _five days_ ago to just wait until after competition to talk about this.

Sam grabbed her hand as she reached the car, and spun her playfully.

"So," he asked, before leaning in and kissing her, the smell of a peppermint she hadn't noticed him eat surprisingly sharp on his mouth.

It wasn't quite like the kiss in New York, in the alcove of the stage door, when he had moved in really slowly, as though purposefully giving her time to decide whether or not she was going to let him kiss her, giving her time to stop him if she wanted to, before lightly pressed his mouth to hers, tipping his head up a little bit, so that even though his mouth stayed closed it wasn't a totally chaste, platonic type of kiss. It was an asking sort of kiss.

He grinned his wide grin at her and Mercedes echoed it but still didn't answer his unasked question.

"I like you," Sam told her.

Her grin stayed on her face, but she pulled her teeth over her bottom lip. It had been unexpected at the time, and it was almost surreal now, after a totally amicable, mature, five day hiatus.

She just wasn't that girl. _Not born for the rose and pearl_ and everything. Sam's previous girlfriends were Quinn, the Barbie blond, and Santana, the stick thin firecracker. Mercedes didn't seem to be Sam's type. And apparently her type was _super gay_. Absolutely nothing about this seemed to be on the level.

Sam's innocent grin started to fade.

"I like you too," she replied.

Except for that part. She and Sam just sort of clicked, in this easy… no pressure way. After Jesse St. James had swept back into down in a whirlwind of predatory smiles and hipster scarves and Rachel's three way date had become Rachel bringing Jesse to Prom and Mercedes still being the only girl without a real date, it hadn't been awkward between her and Sam. They had hung out. Had fun.

She had wondered, briefly, when Sam had come up to her and told her she was beautiful and asked her to dance, if Rachel had put him up to it. But only briefly, because it _was _what she wanted, and Sam was being sweet about it, not like he was obligated but like, even if he had been told about the fantasy, he just wanted to give it to her. And then he had walked her home like a gentleman, even though once they got there her father had insisted on giving him a ride back to the hotel.

"So… maybe sometime I could take you on a date that we actually… you know. Plan out. One that doesn't just…happen."

Like it had in New York… another gently, innocently fulfilled fantasy. They had crossed paths in the lobby. She had been over the damn glee girl drama, and Sam was looking for a few hours to not be crammed in a hotel room with too many people. They had sat in the lobby for a while, trying to write songs and not freak out about the fact that their club still didn't have songs written, but New York had been calling.

They hadn't meant to go that far from the hotel.

Sam brushed her bangs casually away from her face and she considered asking, coyly, like in the movies, if what happened in New York was really a date, but it clearly had been, or at least had somehow turned into one halfway through the night. Plus- she didn't do coy. Coy required a kind of fakeness she associated with the Cheerios. Coy was Quinn's defense mechanism, and she didn't want to be like that.

"I'd like that," Mercedes finally said. Sam's grin spread even further across his face.

"Awesome. I'll think of something really good."

"Okay," Mercedes says, a laugh bubbling unexpectedly out of her, which Sam returned.

"But you don't have to go overboard," Mercedes continued, trying to convey that he didn't have to… well… he didn't have to live up to anything after that first time had been so incredible. She was also trying to not make it sound like she was telling him he didn't have to spend any money, but Sam didn't seem to read into it that far.

"I won't," he promised, tugging open the passenger side door of her car. "Maybe… sometime later this week? Once school's out? We could just come back here?" he continued as Mercedes walked over to the driver's side. "Or maybe that coffee shop on the other side of town? Something casual?"

"Okay," she agreed as she put the car in drive.

"Okay."

After a couple years of failing, of watching everyone else somehow magically make this happen (even someone as annoying as Rachel), she couldn't figure out if she was shocked or disappointed that it had been this easy.

She had never thought it would be this easy, having someone ask you out just because they liked you. Not when asking Kurt to confirm they were dating had been so hard, no matter how much nonchalance she had faked, or when giving into Puck so he could use her popularity had been so lackluster.

This was just…nice, she felt warm and excited all over from this. And she didn't want the Glee club to wreck it like they had for Quinn and Finn. Or Rachel and Finn. Or to a lesser extent Artie and Brittany. Or Finn and Rachel the second time. Or Finn and Quinn… the third time?

"So…" Sam started again, "Does this mean that we're dating?"

"You know what? Let's not decide on that now," Mercedes said, "I mean… these last couple days have been-"

"Nice," Sam finished.

"Yeah."

"Mercedes, if I ask you something, do you promise to not get mad until I explain?"

"Of course," Mercedes said softly, realizing how obvious it was that Sam had only ever dated Quinn and Santana.

"Do you mind if… we don't tell the Glee Club for a while?"

Mercedes laughed, "That's actually exactly what I was just thinking."

"Okay. Good. Cause I was just thinking, the only two couples we know who are still together right now are Kurt and Blaine, and Mike and Tina, and they both started dating outside of the whole… glee club mess."

"What about Puck and Lauren?"

Sam pursed his lips for a second, "I think I'm going to count them as "started dating outside of glee club" because I think the whole port-a-potty thing… got into Puck's head."

"Plus Lauren's not really _into_ Glee Club like the rest of us are."

"Yeah. I suppose when you're the state champ in Greco-roman wrestling and no one is stupid enough to slushie you, you do what you want."

Mercedes laughs.

Sam sunk back against the seat, staring out the window for a few minutes before leaning forward and turning the radio on.

Usher's "Yeah" came on, loudly, and Mercedes reached over to turn it down.

"Do you think that Rachel and Finn really dropped us out of the top ten?" Sam asked.

Mercedes, like the entire rest of the team, had been thinking about this since she saw the results.

"I don't think there is any reason to blame them if we don't know for sure," she replied.

"Hmm," Sam said, "That sounds like a 'yes'."

"Well, I know if I'd gotten that solo, there would have been no onstage nookie, that's for sure." Mercedes went on, after Sam's quiet laugh. "They just need to figure out how to separate things. They don't have to sing everything in class while they give each other longing looks from over the piano. No wonder Quinn and Rachel go so crazy every time Finn swaps them, they get it rubbed in their faces so bad."

"Yeah. I always felt bad when Quinn and Finn were doing that," Sam says, then starts. "Sorry… I don't mean-"

"Don't even worry about it," Mercedes shrugged. "I was there. I know you were together. It's stupid for us to pretend that you didn't date Quinn or that you didn't date Santana, or that I didn't date Puck for like… two days."

"You dated Puck?"

"Oh, yeah. Last year, but it wasn't really dating. He wanted to date a popular girl for the week that I was popular and he wasn't."

"Puck never mentioned that," Sam said as they pulled into the hotel parking lot.

"Yeah, well, once I quit the Cheerios I don't think we ever brought the whole crazy mess up again," Mercedes shrugged, not quite able to stop herself from gazing around the parking lot, trying to spot a car she recognized. People had staked out this hotel in the past.

"You were a Cheerio?" Sam laughed.

Mercedes nods, as though embarrassed. "I sometimes forget that you missed a whole year of all the glee club's crazy."

"Me too." He reached over and set his hand on top of Mercedes's, where it was resting on the console. "This is all the crazy stuff you can catch me up on. On our date."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Mercedes cleared her throat at the look on Sam's face. "Okay, I have to be home in like ten minutes."

"Can I kiss you good night?" Sam asked. All she could do was nod.

It was just like the other two times, sweet and short, and he didn't pull back right away, he just held their faces close, before saying, "Goodnight, Mercedes" and getting out of the car.

Normally Mercedes would be blasting the radio on the drive home, right up until she got a couple blocks away from her house, so that she wouldn't annoy her neighbors, but tonight she just let it be a quiet hum in the background while she carefully ran over that entire night in New York, her first date with Sam, over again in her mind.

It was the rose that had made it into a date, she had decided. She and Sam had only left the lobby to escape their song-writing frustration. They were only going to go across the street and get a Danish and cup of coffee. And then everything had just been so alive. There were still people on the streets, spots of fog rising up out of the streets. They walked while they ate, peeking in the windows of the little stores everywhere, all still open past nine, which was just weird. They had talked about whether Sam missed his old school, how his siblings were doing. They had gone all the way over to Times Square, marveling at how it was so bright it was like daylight.

Then someone had yelled loudly into their cell phone, right behind them, and Mercedes had jumped and grabbed Sam's arm, and he'd chuckled, because he'd jumped too, and he had grabbed her hand. A few blocks further along, someone had been throwing old flowers out of their flower stand, and Sam had just sort of swiped one out of the discard pile as they walked by, and handed it to her.

And suddenly it was a date. His hand was warmer in hers. His smile was directed at her more than it had been. They had wound up at the Gershwin, and Mercedes had mentioned how badly she had wanted to try to get into Wicked while they were in New York, and Sam had told her to give him her phone and stand by the stage door, and he had taken her picture. Then he had paused, looked at her, stepped forward, slowed down, and kissed her.

It had been like fireworks in the distance, not so close that the noise shook your chest and popped your ears, but like a soft rumble across a distance, with the light bursting above the tree line.

He had smiled at her, handed her the phone, then taken her hand in his again. They had walked calmly back to the hotel, calmly agreeing along the way to not worry about this until after Nationals, and not to tell anyone else.

Her mom was waiting up for her when she stepped into the living room. Mercedes hugged her and told her the trip was amazing before yawning hugely and heading up for bed.

She couldn't quite help herself, as she flipped through the songs in her Ipod, finding the one that had been running in her mind all week, almost like a warning, and sliding the Ipod into her speakers.

_Hands touch, eyes meet_

_Sudden silence, sudden heat_

_Hearts leap in a giddy whirl_

_He could be that boy_

_But I'm not that girl_

It had been amazing trip. That night had been an amazing night. Tonight had been an amazing night.

_Don't dream too far,_

_Don't lose sight of who you are_

_Don't remember that rush of joy_

_He could be that boy_

_I'm not that girl_

But…

_Blithe smile, lithe limbed_

_She is winsome, she wins him_

_Gold hair with a gentle curl_

_That's the girl he chose _

_And heaven knows, _

_I'm not that girl_

And it wasn't just that Quinn was beautiful… it was that Mercedes saw how Sam went after Quinn when he had first transferred. And what she didn't see, she had heard about from Kurt, who had given up on being Sam's duet competition partner, but hadn't given up on Sam, not totally, until… Kurt had gotten distracted by everything else.

She knew how Sam had felt about his reputation. How he wanted to beat Finn out for king of the school, when everyone knew that Karofsky had proven that was his title.

Despite the magic

_Don't wish, Don't start_

Despite the warmth

_Wishing only wounds the heart_

It was just a little hard to make herself really believe that this was as good as it seemed.

_I wasn't born for the rose and pearl_

_I'm not that girl_


	2. The World Had Changed and No One Noticed

Blaine was obnoxiously proud of himself. He had Put Together A Look. And he looked awesome. His cardigan matched his shoes and coordinated with his plaid shirt. His jeans were new and fit better than any other pair of jeans he'd ever had. He had a charming "50's hipster without the irony" thing going on. Even Kurt was going to approve. The 50's were totally fashionable right now.

He turned around in the mirror a couple more times, wondering if he needed a belt before realizing that he had no idea if black or brown was appropriate with red shoes and that adding a belt was probably a more advanced maneuver than he was really ready for.

He untucked his shirt and retucked his shirt a couple more times before deciding that he was being silly, then went to the bathroom to deal with his hair. He was going to have to think of a way to ask Kurt about gel alternatives while simultaneously making it clear that he was not presenting a makeover opportunity. Because he was aware that it would eventually get too hot for him to gel his hair like he did for school, and that going au naturale was not an option, but he was also not stupid enough to think that Kurt would stop at his hair. And he loved Kurt, but he still wasn't going to let Kurt put him in a knee length sweater, or a silk shirt or something with weird spiky shoulders. He wetted his hair down and parted it.

He loved Kurt. He kept catching himself thinking it, and he liked the sound of it better every time. He'd loved Kurt for a while. Maybe even before "Blackbird", but he felt like someone like Kurt needed breathing room before getting his first real kiss and becoming someone's first real boyfriend. You didn't just throw "I love you" on top of that, especially with their first competition solo a week away.

Blaine had also wanted to make sure. He had, in the past, tossed around the L-word a little casually. "In Love" is how he had described his stupid infatuation with Jeremiah just because he was gay and he was older and they'd gotten coffee a couple times. "In love" had been scribbled in several of his notebooks and folders during his painfully extreme first crush on his student art teacher just because he had been so good looking and so nice to him and because Blaine had been thirteen and a bomb of hormones and the poor guy had been there.

When he said it, "love", to Kurt, he wanted it to be a big epically sincere and romantic thing. Because this feeling, the one he had for Kurt, was completely different from those other feelings. With the student teacher it had been awful, like an atomic bomb taking out a city, melting flesh into concrete, turning things he hadn't even known could burn into ash. With Jeremiah it had just been this stupid tingling, this happy candle flickering. With Kurt it was like a fire in a hearth. Warm and comfortable and something he could just stare at, warm and contented, for hours. And before he explained that to Kurt, he wanted to make sure it was totally true, and totally real.

But it was, and it only got more true when he said it to himself. "I love him, but I can't believe he thinks he'll really get Karofsky to start a PFLAG chapter." "Is he really wearing pants with skulls on them and a backless vest? I love him". The whole set up for Kurt asking him to Prom, the movie, dinner at Breadstix and the whole proposal factor of him asking had made that hearth glow burn so warm in Blaine that it had nearly slipped out with "I'm crazy about you".

But there was no hurry. They had time. Kurt's last full day of school was tomorrow and then they had the whole summer together. The perfect, big, epic, sincere, romantic moment would present itself. Blaine's reverie was broken by the click of the front door being unlocked.

Dammit.

He pushed his last wave into place and plastered it down, then grabbed his satchel out of his bedroom, dug his car keys out of it and shoved them in his pockets as he walked to the top of the stairs.

His parents were in the foyer, putting away their golf clubs and cleats. They had gotten home earlier than he'd planned on. He carefully toned down his "going to see Kurt" grin to something more reasonable and headed down the stairs trying not to look like he was in too much of a hurry.

His mom turned suddenly as he reached the midpoint of the stairs.

"Oh, hi, sweetheart," she said, just a touch breathlessly. She always sounded like that when she talked to him now, like she had accidentally walked in on him doing something mildly private, like folding his underwear or clipping his toenails.

"Hi," Blaine replied, clutching his satchel strap self consciously. "How was golf?"

"Oh the wind was a little high," his mother said, brushing a heavy black curl back from her face, "And the Carmichaels are a lot more… brisk than the Murphys. We got a little bit of a work out today."

"Oh."

"You look nice. Are you going out?"

Blaine cleared his throat, "Uh, yes. Kurt's back from New York."

"Oh. Kurt." His father's face, full of forced interest, fell just a fraction before the smile slid back into place.

"Right. He's back from New York." His mother's attempt at positive was a lot more successful, but still rang as fake. "How late are you going to be?"

"Umm… late. Carol already invited me to stay for dinner and Kurt's got pictures and stuff and he can get a little…meticulous about audition choices." He hates how stiff his parent's expressions get at the admission that he knows Kurt well enough to know what his audition habits are. Like he'd mentioned something so much more private than that. Like how Kurt's hair smells like strawberries, or how his skin tastes just a little sweet. "Like probably at curfew."

"Right," his mother said. "Well. Have a nice time at the Hummel's."

"Thanks," Blaine said through a now completely plastic grin. He nodded to his parents, turned and walked out the front door, digging his car keys out of his pocket as he did. He dropped into his car, dug out his ipod. spun it to his "Warblers '11" playlist and took off with "Raise Your Glass" blasting louder than strictly necessary.

His parents weren't taking the whole "boyfriend" thing very well. He knew they were trying, and he knew it could be so much worse. Every time he considered calling Taylor and instantly chickened out, he knew it could be so much worse.

He knew his parents loved him. They wanted him to be safe. They wanted him to be happy. They didn't really understand the music thing, but they wanted him to be successful.

They just wanted him to be straight too.

They would never say that, they weren't cruel people. It was just obvious. And when he had been thirteen and in panting puppy love with a student teacher who was probably the only person in the whole school who was nice to him, or at Dalton where there were no girls to talk or think about at all, his parents could write it all off as him just being confused, or lonely. But now there was Kurt. His Boyfriend. And that comfortable cushion that his parents had was getting pretty thoroughly blasted apart.

It hadn't helped that he hadn't told them right away. They'd known for a month. He and Kurt had been dating for just a little over three. But they had been having such a hard time getting their heads around the fact that Blaine had a gay best friend. And Blaine hadn't been entirely forthright in his descriptions of Kurt, either. But since he'd told them that Kurt was his boyfriend, he'd tried to be a little more honest. Instead of just saying that he and Kurt had watched a movie, he was now mentioning that Kurt had wanted to rent something French and artsy. Instead of saying that he and Kurt were late because they'd missed their dinner reservations, he laughed that it was because Kurt's outfit had been a little complicated. He'd set the Prom photo, with Kurt in the crown, and the flirty grin, and the _kilt_ on his desk.

And he'd seen the awkward sideways looks that they both gave that photo whenever they popped their heads into his room to tell him that dinner was ready, or to ask him to do some chore.

They weren't hateful people, they were just a little ignorant, and they were trying…but sometimes it was just hard that they clearly weren't as easily accepting as Carol and Mr. Hummel. Blaine hated the thought of subjecting Kurt's beautiful face, his unique style, and his exquisite voice to the same type of scrutiny that the Kurt in the prom photo always got, and watch it all get broken down into the stereotypes and tropes that they could understand. He didn't think his parent's were ready for Kurt. And he certainly wasn't ready to answer any questions about Kurt.

When Blaine pulled up to the Hudmel house, Kurt was standing outside on the front porch carefully in the shade, dressed in his usual five or six layers, one of which was sea foam green pants. Blaine felt his grin, which had faded on the ride over, kick back in full force as he parked his car. Kurt was already heading toward him, and they met halfway up the walk, throwing themselves into a hug. Blaine was clutching Kurt like he'd been gone for years instead of a couple of days, taking in the sharp, spicy scent of all of Kurt's products mixed together.

"Hey," Kurt said quietly.

"Hey. I missed you," Blaine told him, squeezing him briefly before letting him go. Kurt leaned in for quick kiss.

"I missed you too. Come on, I have a million things to tell you and if Carol sees you and invites you in, we aren't going to get to the music store in time to really look everything over before they close."

"I like when Carol invites me in," Blaine said.

"That's because she always tells you that you look handsome and gives you something to eat. Like you're a stray puppy."

That was true. Nearly every time Blaine came over Carol told him some variation on "Don't you look handsome" or "Isn't it sweet how you always dress up for dates?" Then hugged him and gave him something to eat or a can of pop or something. Blaine loved Carol. And Kurt loved Carol. And Carol loved Kurt and Blaine. It was such a nice spot of simplicity in Blaine's life.

Kurt slid his hand into Blaine's, and Blaine felt that fireplace heat stoke up inside him, fortifying him against the slight chill of the day as Kurt started filling him in on his trip.

* * *

><p>"Asian kiss?" Mike asked quietly popping out from behind Tina's locker. Tina smiled.<p>

"Asian kiss," she agreed.

"So Finn's been hiding in the library all day," Mike told her as he took her hand in his and they headed out to her car.

"Really? How did he find it?" Tina snarked.

Mike gave her a pouting lip. "Come on, don't be like that."

"I'm just sick of Rachel and Finn's hormones screwing everything up," Tina sighed. "We all work too hard for their drama to always be our focus. Our lives would just be easier if Rachel and Quinn flipped a coin for Finn and the winner just got to keep him for a whole year. And I'm going to be really pissed off if this whole "making out onstage incident" doesn't affect next year's solo choices."

"You don't think it's at least a little romantic? We've gotten carried aware before."

"Yeah, but never onstage."

"What about last year at Asian Camp?"

"Asian Camp in front of a bunch of grade school kids who are too busy texting to pay attention is not the same as during the National's competition," Tina huffed.

"So does that mean it's okay if we get carried away again this year?"

Tina's stomach dropped suddenly as she slowed and turned to Mike, clutching her books a little closer to her chest.

"I decided not to work at Asian Camp this year."

Mike froze and dropped her hand. "What?"

"It's my last summer before college applications start and I thought I should try to do something a little more arts related and a little more professional. I want to go into an arts program. Probably on the east coast."

"We're in charge of the arts program at Asian Camp!" Mike told her, his voice rising.

"Which is the smallest program at a camp known for math and science programs."

"Well…what are you going to do instead?"

"Blaine sent me the information for Six Flags. I got an audition too."

"So…. What? Instead of working with your boyfriend this summer, you're going to work with Kurt's?"

"Are you seriously being jealous of_ Blaine_ right now?"

Mike bit his lip and leaned back against the bank of lockers they had stopped in front of. "No. I'm not."

"Mike," Tina grabbed his hand. "Please listen- this has nothing to do with you. I love you, and it's not that I don't want to be around you, or that I don't want to spend the summer at Asian Camp with you, it's just that… I need to start thinking about my future. We've only got a year of high school left."

"Am I in your future?" Mike asked, sulking.

"Of course you are," Tina said, leaning in to kiss him. He hesitated for a moment before kissing her back. "I just need you to understand that you aren't the only thing in my future."

Mike paused for a moment, looking over her lips before kissing her and stepping back. "You're right."

"Thank you."

Mike took her hand again and squeezed it.

"Asian Parking out at the quarry?" Tina suggested.

Mike smiled despite himself, "Absolutely."

* * *

><p>It was probably a totally narcissistic thing to admit, even to himself, but Kurt loved the way that Blaine was staring at him. He'd been babbling for the last forty five minutes, an hour if you included in the car, about a trip that Blaine had wanted to go on, with people Blaine only kind of knew, and Blaine was listening to him with rapt attention. Blaine was looking at him like there was a spotlight on him. Which of course only made him keep talking, because, if he was being entirely honest with himself, Kurt knew he was a little bit of a narcissist.<p>

"So we get back to the hotel, and Santana loses it," he told Blaine, attempting to imitate the tone of Santana screaming in Spanish, even though he had no idea what she had said outside of "Lima Heights Adjacent", which never boded well. "And, I mean, the plane ride home was completely silent. We all just sat there with our faces buried in our complimentary copies of Skymall."

"I don't get it. You don't seem that sad at all."

Kurt shrugged. "Well, it was still amazing. I flew in a plane for the first time in my life. I had Breakfast at Tiffany's," Blaine's head dipped happily as he clearly realized where Kurt had gotten that idea, "I sang on a Broadway stage." Even mentioning it again gave him shivers.

"I love you," Blaine said quietly.

It took Kurt a second to hear it.

And then it was like crack of lightning, right into the middle of The Lima Bean. A sort of terrible beauty shaking the walls. And no one else had seemed to notice that the world had just changed.

Kurt resisted the urge to choke all over the coat he'd bought on Madison Avenue, sucked his cheeks in and swallowed carefully, painfully aware that Blaine hadn't moved, that Blaine was just sitting there, smiling, staring at him like he was still talking, like he hadn't just said "I love you".

Kurt breathed, made sure he could still hear the echo of it in his head, and opened his mouth, hearing himself offer a shaky, "I love you too."

Blaine smiled at him, barely a twitch of the lips and Kurt's stomach clenched a little. What if Blaine didn't believe him? Well. Kurt was entirely sure he believed Blaine either, as much as he wanted to. Blaine had thought he loved Jeremiah too.

"You know, when you stop and think about it, Kurt Hummel's had a pretty good year." He said, moving on, they could come back to the whole "I love you" thing later, preferably somewhere a little more private and sometime when Kurt was expecting it, and wasn't dropping one shaking hand down into his lap where Blaine couldn't see it, or clenching the other around his coffee cup to still it.

Blaine smiled at him again, a warmer smile that looked a little bit more like he really felt it. And the shrill of ice through Kurt's stomach made him realize, that yes, that really had just happened between them.

Sam and Mercedes walked in and Kurt grasped the opportunity.

"Oh! Look who's here!"

Blaine turned in his chair, "Hey what are you guys doing here?"

"Uh just uh," Sam started and Kurt perked up a little at the tone. He was lying. He had used the exact same tone, swinging his arms the exact same way before had told Kurt and Blaine that he was just delivering pizzas so he could buy an amp for his guitar, "Getting a coffee."

"We ran into each other in the parking lot," Mercedes chimed in unnecessarily, adding a little over emphatic nod. She was lying too.

"We're on our way to get some sheet music, tomorrow's my audition for the summer show at six flags."

"Whereas I'm spending my summer composing "Pip Pip Hooray", the Broadway Musical about Pippa Middleton." Kurt could sense Blaine rolling his eyes, but it didn't matter. It was a brilliant idea and he would see that once Kurt had finished the number about hats, based only slightly on "Ascott Opening Day" from My Fair Lady.

"I have no idea who that is, but it sounds totally awesome," Sam smiled, his tone mocking, but good natured. Mercedes laughed too loud and hit him on the arm.

They were dating.

Kurt gave her a little smile, an "oh, you think you're so smooth smile."

"We'll see you in class," Mercedes said, obviously trying to end the conversation before Kurt figured out what he had just figured out and what would probably take Blaine a month and several unavoidable signs to figure out.

"Bye guys!" Blaine waved them off cheerfully.

Kurt wondered briefly why Mercedes hadn't said anything to him about this shocking blond development, but then Blaine turned back to him to talk about his audition, and his smile was warm, and the coffee was warm and Mercedes and Sam seemed happy.

And Blaine loved him.

And they had the whole summer ahead of them.


	3. Not as blank as

Warm hands, with just a little bit of callous along the palm, sliding from his shoulders to his neck, to his jaw before fingers threaded into the hair at the nape of his neck. Just kissing, soft and warm and slow. Careful almost, like he might break. Which made sense, because he was shaking against the slim, undefined, white t-shirt clad chest pressing him carefully down into his pillows. A quiet voice made soothing noises over him, popping the top button of his letterman jacket, which crumbled to dust, button by button, before blowing off in the breeze, leaving him bare to patient kisses down his chest and a warm hand sliding into his jeans.

A shriek of beeping broke into Dave's dream and he pulled his hand out from under his pajamas and grabbed his phone, groaning as it glared "6:00 AM" down at him.

Right. He had decided to start jogging. Get in shape. Slim down a little bit.

Work out some stress.

But he was exhausted and half hard and not seeing any real reason to go out into the early morning June chill when he would burn just as many calories at 7:00 am. And, he thought to himself, at least this was the okay dream. This was the dream he could almost deal with if he didn't think about it too hard and never let himself picture a face while he…finished. He slipped his hand back under his underwear, wrapping his fingers around himself.

As long as he was quiet, it was okay like this. He could touch himself while he imagined soft careful kisses. He could imagine warm hands. He could imagine an undefined, nearly hairless, slightly pasty if he was honest, chest pressing into his own.

He just never let himself remember that in the dream it was always Finn. Because, at school, it was never Finn. Dave thought Finn was a geek, and an idiot, and that watching him try to chew gum and walk at the same time without Quinn or Rachel leading him was pathetic, but Dream Finn was… sweet. Careful. Patient. Warm.

Calming.

When it was Finn, Dave usually woke up fuzzy and aroused and able to do what he was doing now, just run his hands over himself, adjusting the grip, adjusting the speed, bringing himself over without a lot of fuss, picturing a faceless body rubbing against his own. It was less freaky like this.

The dream about Sam scared him. When it was Sam he woke up hard as hell, if not already spent and sticky and desperately hoping he didn't moan in his sleep. He had even bought a fan just in case he did.

He let Dream Sam throw him around the locker room and tear off his clothes. He let Dream Sam shove him against the lockers so hard the hinges cut seams down his skin. Dream Sam's fingers dug too hard into purple black bruises. He let Dream Sam force him down to the locker room floor and wrestle him down onto his stomach.

He let Dream Sam hurt him.

He didn't want to think about why that… got him going. He blamed it on the fact that he thought Sam was hot, combined with the fact that the only time he'd gotten his hands on Sam was the time that Sam had beat the crap out of him in the locker room, and, just to top off the whole fucked up cocktail, the fact that the only time he'd ever kissed a boy was when he had attacked Kurt in the locker room, overcome by fear, desperation and hormones, and Kurt had given him this look of… devastation and pushed him away like he was filthy and diseased.

Dave pulled his thoughts back, back to the dream, back to happy kisses and soothing hands. He forced himself to block out all the fleeting images of golden hair and or tear brimmed eyes, let the locker room fade out of his mind, brought it back to the weird space, half outside, half his room, where the Not-Finn fantasy took place.

It felt like forever before he finally spilled over his hand, wiped it off inside his boxers and grabbed his phone again.

6:20.

He sighed, dropped his head back onto his pillow, then reluctantly got up. He was going to jog. He was going to get in better shape. He was going to slim down.

He was going to work out some stress.

* * *

><p>Blaine slowly pulled into a parking spot, turned the car off, yawned and stretched.<p>

He really had planned to get more sleep before this audition. He had slept like a baby the night before his audition for the Warblers, and he had slept pretty well last night, but too many things had gotten in the way of him getting _enough_ sleep.

He had gone over to Kurt's for practice and critiquing. Then Tina had called him, and Kurt had invited her over for practice and critiquing. Then they had needed to get rid of her as politely as possible in order to squeeze in a little bit of annoyingly chaste Open-Door-Policy "you're so getting this part" making out. Which had riled him up a little too much to follow through on his plan to go home and go _directly _to sleep.

That was actually starting to cut into his sleep a lot. Calming down enough to get to sleep. Waking up from dreams of he and Kurt doing things that he and Kurt hadn't even talked about. Part of that was due to the very clear memory of Kurt getting upset with him and throwing him out of the house for even talking about sex, but a larger part of it was due to the fact that between the Open-Door Policy, and curfews and the fact that this was still Ohio and it wasn't safe for the two of them to go up to Lover's Lane like Tina had suggested, it seemed torturous to bring up doing things they might not have the privacy to do until college anyway.

Then, just to top everything off, this morning, in a sweet, but somewhat misguided effort, his mother had woken him up an hour and half earlier than he had planned on getting up, for a "Good Luck at Your Audition" breakfast, and he'd had to eat blueberry waffles in his robe and dirty underwear.

Blaine rubbed his hands into his eyes, then nearly poked them both out when someone knocked on his window.

It took Blaine a moment to recognize Tina, grinning broadly and waving at him. He opened the door and stepped out of his car.

"Wow," Blaine managed. "You look different. I mean-good, just really different. Did you dye your hair… like last night?"

"No. The blue streaks are extensions." Tina shrugged. "I figured my regular look was a little bit too much for six flags. Plus I simplify in the summer anyway. My normal clothes are way too hot." Tina spun for him a little bit, showing off her sneakers, red tunic with a little bit of a frill at the bottom and plain skinny jeans.

"You look nice too," she offered, but the way she raked her eyes over him as she said it made Blaine doubt her sincerity. "Does Kurt know you own cargo shorts?"

"Kurt doesn't care what I-" Blaine stopped himself, realizing that he was mid-lie. "It's an audition for a summer show and it said dress to move. I think Kurt will forgive my apparently horrific taste in summer casual. Fashion is his hobby not mine."

"And your favorite Vogue cover was…" Tina started.

"Fashion is my interest. Kurt's hobby," Blaine clarified.

Tina laughed.

"Besides, I also own a ton of T-shirts. Some of them even have holes," he told her conspiratorially as they started toward the park gate.

Tina laughed way too loud and shivered in embarrassment, "Sorry, I'm a little nervous."

Blaine grabbed her shoulder and squeezed, "Don't worry. We'll be fine. We'll be awesome, actually."

Tina grinned and tapped her palm lightly to his stomach, in a gesture that made Blaine's stomach clench just a little. Kurt accused him of being a touchy feely person pretty much daily, but something about that was uncomfortably familiar about Tina touching his stomach. Blaine wrote it off as a girl thing. He really was absolutely no good around girls. He found them just as confusing as all the other Warblers did, but, as interaction with girls was unlikely to ever be his most valued skill, he had never worried about it.

"Oh crap!" Tina said suddenly, setting her hand back against his stomach. Blaine gulped, but Tina continued, "Jesse St. James," she finished, dropping the name like a curse.

"What?" Blaine asked, following her horrified gaze to an older boy, standing by the registration table wearing a skinny scar and an insufferably smug expression.

"Over there," Tina said.

"That's Jesse St. James?" Blaine asked her dumbly, not expecting the boy in front of them. Based on Kurt's description he'd had been vaguely expecting horns, or possibly a tail or pitchfork.

Jesse looked up at them, smirked and strode over.

"You're the soloist from the Toe Touchers right?"

"The Warblers," Tina spat, huffing up beside Blaine in an unexpectedly protective way.

"Whatever. You're good."

"Than-"

"I'm better," Jesse cut him of immediately. "You have power and clarity, don't get me wrong, but you lack my emotional depth and vocal personality, and confuse showmanship for acting like a drunken cartoon character." He turned his gaze to Tina. "And you brought your girlfriend along for moral support. Cute."

"I'm not his girlfriend," Tina huffed again, "I'm dating Mike?"

"Mike?"

"From New Directions? The club you were in? And just badgered to Nationals? I'm Tina?"

"Oh. Apologies. I thought it might be rude to assume you were Tina. You know, in case I'd confused you with some other Asian girl."

Tina stared, dumbfounded at Jesse, and Blaine was overcome with secondhand embarrassment. No wonder Kurt hated Jesse so much. Blaine had actually kind of thought it was just about solos.

"Well. Tina. Mike. I hope you enjoy watching me beat you. I hope you'll come see me in the show sometime this summer."

With that, Jesse whipped around and stormed off.

"Wow," Blaine finally said. "What a _douche_!"

Tina burst out laughing.

"What?"

"Oh… nothing. I just… I think I like you more out of that blazer. Come on. Let's go show Jesse St. Sucks a thing or two."

* * *

><p>"Okay, Finn," Burt clapped his hands together and tugged at the shoulders of the coveralls that he had found somewhere. They had the name "Carlos" stitched on them, "I'm actually going to have you start out with some cleaning today, okay? We're a little backed up today and I'm not going to be able to spare a tech to show you anything actually on a car. So, we've already got all this hosed down right now, if you want to get this all squeegeed toward the center drain and then help Alan sweep up his stall that'll be great."<p>

"Where's the squeegee?" Finn asked.

"Oh, right," Burt said, shaking his head. He kept doing that. Forgetting that Finn had never actually helped out in the shop before, used to Kurt, who had been running around the shop forever (well… probably not running. Considering. Yeah. Kurt.) Finn actually liked that. It made him feel like Burt really did think of him as a son. Burt hustled over to a closet near the shop entrance, retrieved the squeegee and returned, handing it to Finn.

"Don't worry, we'll get you on a car by tomorrow. And if we're still this busy I'll haul Kurt in to show you how to change a tire. We'll have you turning wrenches before the end of the summer."

"Thanks, Burt," Finn said. Burt clapped him on the shoulder and returned to his work station, where he was doing something grungy and complicated under the hood of a car. Finn watched him for a moment, trying and failing to imagine Kurt handing his father parts, or even under the hood himself, before he turned his attention to the floor.

It was a silly repetitive thing to do, but Burt was paying him to be there, like a lot of money, way more than Puck's pool cleaning business, and it gave him time to think.

"_Graduation's not for another year. You got any plans 'til then?"_

Finn remembered thinking that it had been a good line. It had been the kind of romantic thing that Rachel liked. She had given him that super-happy smile she got on her face when he did something really right.

But it had still felt like goodbye.

Rachel didn't get scary when she focused on something the way that Quinn got scary, Rachel didn't get mean about it, the way that Quinn did, but Rachel did_ not_ let it go. She focused on it and she got it. And she was going to New York.

Finn wasn't entirely sure why no one seemed to think he could go with her. Why everyone could assume that Rachel, Kurt and Blaine would just run off to the city and have it fit like a second skin, but obviously Finn was destined to be a Lima loser for the rest of his life. He knew he wasn't as driven as Rachel, or as talented as Kurt, or as rich as Blaine, or as smart as any of them, but he didn't have to go to New York to be a star. There were other things he could do there. Burt was going to teach him car stuff, and they had cars in New York. And just because he wouldn't be a star didn't mean he would have to be a stumbling block to the other three.

He knew that there was no talking Rachel out of her dream to go to New York, and a few months of living with Kurt had only given him a better understanding of how unbreakable that stubborn, driven _want_ for something like that could be. Kurt and Rachel were more alike than they thought they were. Maybe that's why Kurt pretended not to like her. Too much competition.

Finn's goal for the summer needed to be trying to convince Rachel that she could bring him with her. Finn had been doing the wishy washy thing too long. He'd gone back and forth between Rachel and Quinn too many times and Rachel had explained to him what he was doing. "You'll forgive your first love anything". Quinn was his first love, and when Miss Sylvester had been talking about that connection she felt to her sister, how important that love had to be, Finn had realized that he forgave Quinn more than he loved her. And he couldn't do that for the rest of the year, and he couldn't do it for the rest of their lives.

He knew what would happen if they did that to themselves. Finn would turn into Quinn's father. Fake and dominating and angry and expecting everyone to live up to standards that he set for everyone but himself. Quinn would turn into Mr. Shuester's crazy ex-wife. Faking pregnancies to trap him again and having breakdowns over nothing and crushing the things that he loved to make her feel better about herself. Finn didn't want that. Finn wanted to be Burt, with just enough of Mr. Shue thrown in so that Kurt wouldn't feel bad. Finn wanted to be a good man, who cared about people and loved and defended his family. He wanted to show Rachel how much he cared about her, about her dream, and how he could be part of it if she would let him.

"Finn?" Burt's voice cut into his thoughts and Finn jolted back to reality. Burt was giving him an appraising sort of look. "Alan's stall?" he asked.

"What?"

"Sweep it?" Burt continued.

"Right. Sorry."

"You get breakfast? You seem a little out of it."

"Uh…" Finn replied.

"There's donut's in the break room. Why don't you go grab yourself one and then we'll get you cleaning after that."

"Yeah, okay."

"Oh, and grab me a donut hole?"

"Sure," Finn nodded, heading toward where he knows the break room is.

"And don't tell Kurt!" Burt called after him.

* * *

><p>Puck was at Lauren's house, which he was very, very aware was empty, with his head in Lauren's lap while she ran her hands through his mohawk.<p>

"Lauren Zizes- you and I are going to have the most bad ass summer of all summers. I've got the lineup. First we break into the water treatment plant-"

"Why the water treatment plant?" she asked in her 'you're being a dumbass' voice, but with her 'but I like you anyway' smile.

"Because it's hard to get into," Puck answered, "Baby- you know the challenge is the point- and that's just the warm up- we're going to break into places, trespass, make out, busk. I've got lists. I've got diagrams, I've got-"

"Puckerman- I've got a week before I go to wrestling camp."

Puck grabbed Lauren's wrist, pulling it away from his hair, "What?"

"I'm a camp counselor. Actually assistant director this year. I told you about this."

"Were we making out at the time? Cause you know that your boobs make it hard for me to retain information."

"I think we might have been," Lauren replied. "So here's the recap- I work at a wrestling camp during the summer. One of my job offers is contingent on my completing this year of wrestling camp. I might even be able to be a scout in the future because of this job. None of this stuck? Cause sometimes you get kinky-weird-excited about the whole wrestling thing."

"Okay… Wrestling Camp." Puck said, grasping at the relevant information. "Well that's… that's what like a couple weeks?"

"Two and a half months," Lauren corrected. "I leave on Wednesday. I come back the second of September."

"September!" Puck bolts up out of Lauren's lap, "That's practically school!"

"We've got the next week," Lauren says.

"Well… you've got to have weekends off. I'll drive up to visit you! No one hires a kid with a juvie record, I could come see you like every weekend"

"It's in Oregon."

"Oregon."

"And there's a very strict no boyfriends/girlfriends on camp premises rule."

"That's bullshit!"

"Apparently there were complaints about some sort of shenanigans at one of the affiliated camps."

"Illicit wrestling nookie?"

"No, this wasn't wrestling camp, this was one of the science ones. We weren't supposed to see it, but somebody got a hold of one of the camper's pictures. I don't know the details, but the picture shows some serious face sucking between two counselors, and the guy is shirtless. You can see other kids in the picture. It's bad. It's not usually an issue at wrestling camp, but they enforce the rules pretty strictly anyway."

"Well…can't you get a pass or something?"

"Maybe, but not for long enough to drive from Oregon to Ohio."

Puck leapt off the couch and started to pace back and forth across the living room, "I can't believe you're only just telling me that you're going to be gone all summer! This is the last summer of our lives!"

"What about next summer?" Lauren pointed out.

"That's not the same. Next summer… you might be off training for the WWE, and I might be in a motorcycle gang. I might go to automotive school, or refrigerator college. We have to make memories while we have a chance, while we're young and stupid and-"

"Alone in my house?" Lauren cut in.

"Yeah."

"Come here." She held out her hand, which Puck grabbed. He allowed himself to be tugged down next to her on the couch, and he set his hands at her shoulders.

"Oregon huh?"

"Oregon," she confirmed.

"When does your mom get home?"

"Not for hours."

"Okay," Puck said, leaning forward to kiss her, "But I'm still mad about this."

"Noted."


	4. Just a First Love

Santana dropped back against her bed, wondering if either of her parents ever noticed that she usually showered after Brittany had been over.

Well. Whatever. That was going to change. It had to.

Brittany was the only person (besides probably the piano guy, and really? Who cared) that knew Santana was a lesbian. Brittany had continued to date the nerd in the wheel chair the first time Santana had told Brittany that she was in love with her, and she had done exactly nothing the other times.

Which is why, theoretically, Santana had planned on refusing post-school-celebratory, pre-Brittany-leaving-for-a-three-month-vacation-to-Iceland sex and then decided that she was allowed _one last time_, and gone for it.

But it had to be one last time. Because while she wasn't going to come out, lose the tiny little bit of street cred she had left after cherry-bombing her rep with glee club, and subject herself to being treated like Kurt- she wasn't going to spend the next year pining after Brittany either. And maybe an hour of goodbye sex and three months of radio silence was what it was going to take to get over her. It was just a first love, right? It would go away.

The thought sent a little bit of a chill over Santana's skin and she pulled her robe tighter around herself.

Her phone buzzed loudly and she answered it without looking at the screen.

"What do you want?" she demanded, her voice lower and rougher than she thought it would sound.

"Uh… you okay?"

"I ask again, Karofsky," Santana sighed, "What do you want?" This is not what she needed right now. There was a tub of Rocky Road to be eaten, and the Rumors album to be blasted, and some serious crying to be done right now. Boys could wait. Or rot. Or go fuck themselves.

"Do you want to go to a movie with me?" he asked, sounding a little shy and miserable.

"We don't go to movies, David. We were only pretending to date. And we didn't win prom king and queen and it's summer, so this little beard operation isn't exactly on the top of my list right now."

"Yeah, well… it's not like we pretended to break up, and I need to get out of my house, like now. I was wondering if you wanted to go to Pirates of the Caribbean with me? I'll pay."

"Breadstix?"

"Ice cream?" Karofsky counter offered.

"Pick me up in forty five minutes."

* * *

><p>After <em>almost <em>an entire grueling day, Blaine walked back out to his car, not quite as disappointed as he thought he would be about not getting a part.

There were a lot of reasons for that.

One, he hadn't realize when he had applied that this audition was not for the nearest Six Flags, this was just one of the locations where the auditions were being held, and if he had accepted a part, he would have been shipped out to live in a dorm full of teenagers and college kids anywhere from California to Texas to Massachusetts and absolutely nowhere near Kurt.

Two, he had already texted Kurt to tell him he had only made it to the third to last round and Kurt had told him to come over for frozen yogurt and commiserating in front of a movie of Blaine's choosing, and Blaine had already chosen "The Dark Knight", which Kurt always turned down for casual date nights because of the high probability that Finn would want to watch it too.

And Three, Jesse St. James had also been cut and was trudging listlessly out into the parking lot in a way that would have almost made Blaine feel bad for the guy if it weren't for the fact that over the lunch break he had come up to Blaine and Tina and told Tina that she was actually pretty good, just not good enough that she shouldn't consider spending college tuition on plastic surgery.

Blaine had just stood there, too overcome with anger and shock to reply, too used to being sheltered and liked and safe at Dalton to deal with something as minor as Jesse St. James. Tina, however, had rolled her eyes and responded, "That's still probably a better investment than paying for a semester and getting booted out before midterms".

Blaine breathed a little sigh of relief when Jesse, instead of offering further insult, climbed into his car, which Blaine noted with interest, was even more expensive than his own, and once Mr. Hummel had walked out into the driveway and whistled at Blaine's car, then tried to explain to Kurt that fancy cars were like fashion for men. Kurt had gotten angry and Mr. Hummel had just held up his hands in surrender and said "Like fashion for slobs like me, happy?"

Blaine smirked at the memory, climbed into his own car and plugged in his I-pod, turning it to his relaxing/study mix, and hitting play. "Blackbird" came up first on the shuffle, and, suddenly absolutely thrilled to have not been cast, Blaine headed back to Lima.

* * *

><p>"You didn't have to pay you know," Mercedes told Sam, leaning back against him on the red plastic bench outside the strangely deserted Dairy Queen. "It's the 21st century. We can go dutch."<p>

"It's okay, Mercedes," Sam told her, wrapping an arm around her, then realizing he was going to run into a serious issue trying to hold her and eat ice cream at the same time. "I wanted to. Unless you didn't want me too?" he asked, suddenly stricken that this might actually be about Mercedes's independence or diva hood or something and not about him being homeless.

"You know… never mind. It's gentlemanly. I appreciate it."

"Okay. Awesome." He corrects his ice cream/ holding Mercedes dilemma by simply shifting over a little bit so that his mouth is not above her head. "Cause this is a little bit of a celebration."

"Yeah? Celebration of what?"

"School's out, so I can work a few more hours without losing all of my time. My grandparents sold their extra car and sent us the money, so we have a little bit more of cushion, and my father found a temp job an hour away. It's not quite enough to fix anything, but it'll take the pressure off a little bit. I can ask my mom to babysit so I can take you out and not feel bad for asking Quinn."

"You know I would be completely okay with a babysitting date right?" Mercedes says, leaning her wait a little more steadily back against his chest. "Left over pizza? Disney movies, maybe even some coloring? I mean, we just started dating, we might not be ready for anything big- like play-dough, or legos, but I could be talked into some coloring."

Sam smiles, feeling that little pang of guilt he's been feeling for a while that he didn't go after the girl who actually seemed like fun in the first place instead of kidding himself with the popular girls and their crazy drama. He leans forward a little bit, pressing a kiss to Mercedes head. She giggles.

"What?"

"Your lips are cold."

"Really?" he laughed.

"Really."

"You want to come up here and warm them up?"

Mercedes turned in his arms and froze, pulling away and scooting back.

Sam's stomach dropped. He knew Mercedes didn't have a lot of experience, but it's not like he did either. He and Quinn had just made out and Santana had just made him carry stuff for her. He was pretty sure he had been complicit in some shoplifting over the course of their brief relationship.

"Mercedes? Did I do something wrong?"

"Santana and Karofsky," Mercedes hissed.

Sam turned, almost raised a hand to wave, then dropped it. He didn't want to talk to Santana, he and Karofsky had been pretending the other didn't exist for months, and he didn't want Mercedes to have to interact with Karofsky. When someone threatened to kill your girlfriend's best friend, it was probably a pretty major breach to wave at them.

"I can't be here with him here," Mercedes said, already getting up. "Do you mind?"

"Of course not, come on." Sam ushered her toward his car, and just took off driving, finally coming to rest at an empty neighborhood park. Mercedes was staring out the window, less frozen than before, but still stiff.

"You okay?" He asked her.

"I just… I can't believe Santana. I mean… I understand wanting to be popular, it's hard to be the outcast, but leeching mojo off of a… "

"Dickbag like Karofsky?"

"Yeah… I just… I know she has no respect for herself… but I thought she'd have at least a little bit more than that. And really? If he hurt Kurt all those times, what's really going to stop him from hurting her?"

"I don't think Santana has any idea what she wants," Sam sighed, opening his door and stepping out. Mercedes was already climbing out of the door he had intended to open for her, so he just hit the locks, closed the door and linked their hands, guiding her over to the empty playground. They sat across from each other on one of the platforms, and after a moment, Sam tangled their feet.

"He didn't ruin the date did he? Karofsky?" Sam asked, when Mercedes eyes remained trained down on her blizzard.

Her head snapped back up, "Oh no. I'm sorry… he just…the whole thing just…" Her eyes drifted back down to her cup of ice cream, and she stabbed her spoon into it a couple times. "He threatened to kill someone I care about, then chased him out of school, and I didn't believe any of that bullywhips bullshit for a hot second. It's hard to have him… just walking around. Everything he did and no one cares enough to do anything about it."

Sam nodded. "I get the feeling."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah… um…" Sam cleared his throat. He'd only told this story to Kurt, and he'd told him a quick, abbreviated version basically just as an apology in case he'd overstepped his bounds when he had beaten up Karofsky."I had a hard time in school before I transferred here."

"Really?" Mercedes asked.

"Back home, I have this friend, Mason," Sam answered, "We grew up together, he lived down the street from me. When we were little everyone used to tease him because he was… like this little egg head. The whole class was struggling through short chapter books and he was reading "The Hobbit" and he and I would watch all these documentaries on the history channel and discovery channel. And everyone used to tease me because I couldn't read very well and I'd get really worked up about it. You know. Dyslexia. But I could watch all the documentaries and remember everything. Mason and I knew everything there was to know about dinosaurs when we were eight," Sam chuckled and Mercedes laughed at him, "So Mason would always tell me that I wasn't stupid, because if I could do that I must be as smart as he was, and for some reason I just needed more help."

"That's really sweet."

"Well, that's what he was like," Sam said, toying with his spoon in his melted ice cream, "Plus we were both these skinny little nerds and no one else would hang out with us… so you know. He had the time to just hang out at my house and help me with my homework."

"Anyway…elementary school was rough on us, and then about halfway through middle school, I joined the soccer team and I started to fill out a little bit and won a bunch of games. And just before we started eighth grade my dad found Mason reading me my math homework and we explained that I did better if he read it to me and my dad sent me to a doctor and I got a diagnosis, so I started having an easier time in class. So I didn't get pushed around as much. But Mason still did."

Sam took a bite of his ice cream, embarrassed at the way that Mercedes was watching him.

"And he started to get weird. He was sad all the time and he'd get… squirelly if I tried to like, put my hand on his shoulder. So, the new Harry Potter movie came out on his thirteenth birthday and I took him for his present, because we were… really into Harry Potter. And then we walked back to my house and he seemed like he was going to cry, and I hugged him, and then he did cry," Sam shrugged awkwardly, he hated thinking about this, that was why he hadn't told Kurt the whole story. "And he told me he thought he was gay and I asked him why he thought that and he told me that he had a crush on guy that played Ron in the movie. And I didn't really know what to say and he started to cry again and he left."

"So… what happened?"

"My parents came home and we had dinner and then I went over to his house and told him that he was my best friend." Sam could feel the heat rising in his face. This was probably way too personal for a third date, and he didn't want to deal with the way Mercedes was watching him right now. "I mean… things weren't exactly perfect. I still didn't understand. I asked him a lot of questions that hurt his feelings sometimes. Anyway… when we started high school, Mason and this other guy at school…had something. It wasn't even a big thing. He didn't tell me about it for like another couple months, but it ended badly and this other boy told everyone that basically Mason had like… forced him… to… whatever, and Mason was out of the closet all of a sudden. So I was always lying for him, or pushing people off him, and then everyone thought that we were dating and we were both getting treated like-"

"Like Kurt?" Mercedes asked quietly.

"Yeah. Pretty much," Sam sighed. "We got into this huge fight once. My parents asked me if I was gay too and I kind of flipped. I went over to his house and I told him I was sick of getting shoved around because couldn't stop himself from tonguing some fucking upper classman. I mean my parents were all "You know it's okay if you are," but it just pushed me over the edge.

"Mason and I didn't talk for like a month and then one of the guys on the soccer team really hurt him and I flipped again and took the guy down. I got suspended, but Mason forgave me. But then I was moving so we went to the gym all summer and he…bleaching my hair was his idea. He said I'd look cute. And when I started at McKinley… he wasn't around. For once. And I just wanted to be normal. Popular." Sam heard the heavy note in his voice and laughed it off. "And it would have worked if weren't for Finn and your damn glee club."

Sam finally looked up from mostly melted ice cream to see Mercedes watching him with wide eyes. She set her cup down, scooted toward him, grabbed his cup out of his hands and set it beside him, then leaned forward and kissed him for real. She set her hand along his jaw line, and when he tentatively brushed his tongue against her lips she opened her mouth. The kiss went on for a few m ore moments before Mercedes pulled back.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Why? That was great," Sam told her, just a little breathless.

"When you transferred in, I didn't think you were anything more than another dumb football player. And when you went after Quinn I just wrote you off as Finn Hudson Part two." She leaned in and kissed him again, quick this time. "I'm glad I found out I was wrong."

Sam stared at her for a moment, then smiled. "I'm glad you wound up being wrong."

They kissed until they got interrupted by little kids suddenly laughing, then looked up to see pointing kids and the incredibly dour group of parents standing behind them, who obviously didn't think that a playground was a good place for making out. They grabbed up their neglected and melted ice cream, and went for another drive.

* * *

><p>Kurt was aware that he might be overdoing things just a little. He didn't need to set up an <em>entire <em>frozen yogurt _bar_ for just him and Blaine to talk about Blaine's audition. He didn't think Blaine even liked blueberries. He himself wasn't going to touch the four year old sprinkles, and he couldn't remember if Blaine had mentioned being allergic to strawberries, or if he was thinking of someone else.

But it would take Blaine another half an hour to get here, and keeping himself busy hulling strawberries and fishing the birthday cake sprinkles out of the back of the pantry was better than getting himself worked up over the fact that that he and Blaine would be alone in his house for the rest of the night. His Dad and Carol had gone out for a late dinner and a movie. They wouldn't be back till after eleven. Finn was out somewhere, with Quinchel, who Kurt had mentally combined into one entity to save time until Finn finally picked one and called it a day.

Blaine and Kurt hadn't had the house to themselves in almost two months. And then they'd only been dating for a month at that point and the major difference between not having the house to themselves and having the house to themselves had been that they had been able to put on some music while they kissed.

But they were creeping up on four months, and while Kurt loved kissing, he had been considering the benefits of adding onto that. After all, certain steps had been made, certain checkpoints had been crossed. Blaine kissing him that first time had turned out not to be a fever dream or some sort of hallucinogenic induced fantasy, which Kurt had been moderately sure was the case for the first two weeks. Blaine had not disappeared into the ether, as Kurt had been concerned he might for the first month. They hadn't suddenly run out of things to say to each other, no other older junior managers had popped out of the woodwork. Blaine hadn't randomly turned straight again. Blaine hadn't gone hormone crazy and tried to savage him. Blaine hadn't gone completely sappy and clingy and intolerable.

Blaine had, despite all of Kurt's worries (and in spite of a couple hopes) stayed Blaine. And he loved and trusted Blaine. And Blaine loved him. And he could have this without being afraid.

Kurt shook his head and huffed exasperatedly at himself. He was being ridiculous. It's not like he wanted to have sex, he just wanted to make out like no one was going to walk in on them. He needed to calm down. Who was sappy and clingy now?

He nervously slivered some almonds and then forced himself to stop. There was a line between a cute amount of effort sorry-you-didn't-get-the-part Frozen Yogurt Bar and I-have-found-every-topping-in-the-house-ravish-me-now Frozen Yogurt Bar.

Maybe he should sit down.

A knock at the door startled him right off his stool and, as he hurried for the door, Kurt swore that if this had anything to do with Finn forgetting his keys, or needing a ride somewhere, or in any way needing to be in the house for any amount of time, Finn was going to die tonight.

Kurt pulled the door open to find Blaine, wearing ratty, ragged cargo shorts and a grey and red Dalton athletics t-shirt, his hair loose and curly and a five o'clock shadow across his jaw starting to seem like seven or eight.

"Hi," Blaine said, stepping inside and kissing him quickly, before Kurt had even managed to get over the shock. Blaine looked like such a… boy. His stubble was scratching Kurt's face a little bit.

"You taste like strawberries," Blaine whispered quickly before pulling away, "I'm super gross, there was no air in the audition space. Is it okay if I hop in your shower quick?"

"Uh huh," Kurt nodded, his voice high and off. Blaine quirked his head.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Kurt answered, regaining control of himself over the voice in his head going _stay calm, don't look at his calves. Gosh, look at his calves_. "I'm fine. I just wasn't expecting you for a little while longer. Go clean up. I'll get everything ready."

"Meet you in your room?" Blaine asked.

"Actually," Kurt said, his voice getting high again, "We can have the living room. No one's going to be home tonight."

Blaine's happy calm dripped off of him, before he answered, also in a higher than normal voice, "Oh, okay. I'll meet you down here then."

"Okay."

"Okay." Blaine nodded, and started up the stairs, getting up about four steps before turning around and coming back downstairs, mumbling, "Forgot my bag," and turning back up.

"Blaine?"

"Yeah?"

"Is there hair gel in that bag?"

"Yeah, I tried for a little…looser look this morning, but it didn't work and now it's a little melted out."

"Umm… let me get you something else to try."

"Okay."

Kurt followed Blaine upstairs, determinedly not looking at the way the muscles shifted under the wiry black hair on Blaine's legs.

Blaine stopped at the top floor and stood, waiting obediently for whatever product Kurt had wanted him to try and Kurt scurried off to his room to get it, knocking a couple cans over as he grabbed the one he was looking for.

Blaine was shifting from leg to leg next to the stair case when Kurt came back and handed him the can.

"Here. One pump, spread it over your palms and just rub it over your hair. Just the top part, try not to get it all the way down to your scalp."

"Right," Blaine said. He looked at the can for a moment, then back up at Kurt. He leaned in and kissed him again a little bit longer than the quick peck in greeting that Blaine had given him earlier. "Thanks. I'll be down for frozen yogurt in fifteen minutes?"

"Okay."

Kurt went downstairs, alternately chastising himself for getting weird when Blaine had shown up looking less than perfectly polished, and assuring himself that Blaine had gotten just as flustered at the prospect of an empty house.

This was ridiculous. He was seventeen freaking years old. The only people he knew who hadn't had sex were Mercedes and Rachel.

But even Rachel had gotten to second base and he hadn't. And now he and his boyfriend finally had the opportunity. And now, with no warning at all, Blaine had shown up all boyish and sexy. And while Kurt thought Blaine was incredibly gorgeous, in a gentlemanly, old fashioned, dapper and debonair sort of way, this new and totally unfair development had thrown him for a little bit of a loop.

He slivered some more almonds, until he heard a little chuckle at the kitchen entrance. He felt a little rush of relief. Blaine, though wet and curly, had shaved and changed into jeans and a fitted plaid shirt and looked a little more like himself.

"Wow. When you said frozen yogurt with all the trimmings you weren't kidding," he smiled, wrapping his arm around Kurt's waist as he reached the counter. "Is this just cause I didn't get in?"

"Mostly," Kurt answered. "You were so excited about getting paid to sing for a summer. How did Tina do?"

"Oh, I was going to text her. She was still in the running when Jesse and I left."

"Jesse?"

"Jesse St. Sucks was there. We both got cut in the same round. And he is just as awful as you said he was."

"Is it wrong to feel a little bit vindicated that he shot down my audition for nationals and then he failed himself?"

"No. I am in fact vindicated on your behalf," Blaine promised. "I'm gonna get my phone quick. Tina should know whether she got in or not by now."

Kurt scooped bowl of yogurt out for each of them while Blaine texted. Blaine littered a little bit of everything onto his yogurt while Kurt sprinkled raspberries and almonds over his own and they went out to the living room.

"Hey, Blaine?" Kurt asked, forcing himself to keep his voice calm, "What if we… what if we go up to my room anyway?"

Blaine paused, obviously gulped, and responded, "Okay. Yeah."


	5. Rachel Berry and the Horror

This Chapter is closer to an M, consider yourself warned.

* * *

><p>Tina sat in her car, holding her phone, staring at her contacts list, freaking out.<p>

She was in.

She wasn't just in, she was in in Los Angeles.

LA.

And even if it was just a silly theme park, singing covers and doing lame skits, it was hard not to get excited sitting here in her car with an I-9 and a packet of information that included things like dorm applications and meal plan options. She was going to spend the summer performing in LA.

The one fly in the ointment though, was Mike, who she hadn't told about the fact that this audition could send her across the country. Because she had known when Blaine sent her the info that nothing Mike said would have stopped her. She wouldn't turn down this opportunity just for him. No matter how much she loved him now, they were only seventeen, and if they couldn't survive one summer apart…

"I don't have to tell him tonight," she whispered to herself, scrolling through her contacts for someone she could tell and stopping at the B's. After all, Blaine was the only person she knew that had nearly had to make the same phone call she was putting off, and he and Kurt had _just _started dating.

Her phone buzzed in her hands and she smirked, opening the message.

From Blaine Warbler: _Hey! How did it go? Did you get in?_

She started a text back, deleted it, tried again and then decided that what she wanted to say was too complicated to text and pressed call. It went to voicemail and Tina sighed and put the car into drive, already rehearsing ways to break the news to Mike.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Blaine? What if we… what if we go up to my room anyway?"<p>

Blaine felt his heart stop beating for a moment, then kick back into gear with such a hard a thud against his ribs he was surprised that Kurt hadn't commented on the wet smacking sound it must have made. "Okay. Yeah."

Blaine dropped his free hand between their bodies, twining his fingers into Kurt's as they walked to the staircase. Kurt squeezed his hand and Blaine tried to take a deep breath as surreptitiously as possible.

He was getting overexcited about this. Yes, they had the house to themselves, but Kurt liked romance, and moments, and giggling over the things they didn't get to talk about with anyone else, and doing that slow kissing thing that made Blaine feel like ice melting into water at first, but after they'd been doing it for an hour made him feel like rock melting into lava.

And Blaine liked all those things too, but sometimes he wanted to touch Kurt so badly that he thought he might just die. Like not being able to slide his hands up Kurt's thighs was going to cause him to just stop living and that some poor coroner somewhere was going to have to dumbfoundedly write "Kurt Hummel's Ridiculously Tight Pants That's What" down as Blaine's cause of death. And here they were, with hours to themselves in an empty house.

Kurt pulled his hand away in order to open his door, ushered Blaine through, then shut the door behind him. Kurt paused for a moment, just looking at the closed door, then huffed out a little laugh, lightening the tension that had been ramping up to suffocating levels.

"Have we ever had your house to ourselves?" Blaine asked, dropping back against Kurt's headboard.

"Once, months ago," Kurt shrugged, coming to sit next to Blaine. "It didn't really count."

Blaine experimentally set his knee against Kurt's, thrilling when Kurt responded by moving a little closer, pressing their shins flush against each other.

"And now we have hours and hours. So…" Kurt breathed out, digging into his yogurt. "Tell me all about your audition."

Blaine smiled, bit his lip, moved a little closer, and between bites of frozen yogurt, told Kurt about going from round to round of auditions. Songs, acting exercises, how awful Jesse was, how great Tina was, the girl who had gotten cut in the 5th round, but slipped Blaine her number on her way out. Kurt pursed his lips at that, but laughed when Blaine added that he'd turned to the other girl in his group and said, "Oh… my boyfriend's gonna hate this."

As they talked they moved closer and closer. Touching shins moved to tangled legs, the occasional high five became twined fingers, then hands on elbows. Then hands on waists.

"And then I came here to see you," Blaine finished in a whisper, his face inches from Kurt's.

"And my house was empty," Kurt replied, just a little breathlessly, squeezing his hand around Blaine's waist.

"Yeah," Blaine agreed. He crossed the couple inches of pillow to press his lips to Kurt's. Kurt's mouth opened to him instantly, warm and inviting and already starting up with that slow press of tongue that was all they felt like they could get away with when an entire house of cautious and limited approval was walking past an open door. Kurt made a soft sound, and, encouraged, Blaine slid his hand from Kurt's waist to Kurt's back, and pulled himself a little closer.

Theoretically it was a little sad that after four months, after Prom, and after the L-word, that just getting to run his hands over Kurt's fully clothed body while Kurt ran his own hands over Blaine was this new and this exciting, but the sounds Kurt was making, little catches of breath here and there, the heat radiating out from under his incredibly soft shirt, and the fantasy of a whole summer of chances like this was too intoxicating to worry about where they should or shouldn't be by now. Though, roaming hands or not, Blaine was still keeping his hips just a little ways back from Kurt's. He wasn't totally hard, but he was getting there, and since they hadn't talked about just what an empty house meant, Blaine was going to assume that anything Kurt didn't initiate was off the table, because he did not want to screw this up.

Blaine breathed into the feeling of Kurt's hands slipping up his side, up to his jaw. He grabbed Kurt's hand, pulled away from Kurt's lips for a moment, and pressed a quick kiss to Kurt's palm. His eyes caught in Kurt's open blue stare when he looked up and to his surprise, Kurt twisted his hand out of Blaine's, set his palm to Blaine's neck, then after a moment brought it to Blaine's chest, pinching the top button of his shirt between his delicate fingers.

"Blaine?" he asked, breathless and flushed and gorgeous. "Can I- um,"

"God, yes," Blaine replied, failing to hide the wave pure lust that the idea of Kurt undressing him even in this small way sent crashing over his body.

"Okay," Kurt said quietly, popping open the first three buttons of Blaine's shirt before Blaine covered his mouth in a kiss. Kurt, undistracted, continued unbuttoning all the way down, then set his hand to Blaine's stomach, just above where the hot, tight feeling was starting to pool, and ran his fingers lightly up Blaine's white cotton T-shirt, sending shivers up his spine. Blaine made a noise he wasn't proud of, but Kurt didn't seem to notice.

Blaine lifted his hand up to the buttons on Kurt's shirt. "Kurt?"

"Careful- it's Marc Jacobs," Kurt answered, his voice low and breathy in a way that Blaine had never heard before, and suddenly wanted to hear all of the time.

"So careful," Blaine answered. Kurt watched Blaine's hand travel down his torso, then wrapped his hand around the back of Blaine's neck as the last button fell and pulled him back to the kiss, no longer slow and agonizing but deep and just a little frantic, despite how still his body was. Blaine dropped his face to Kurt's neck, kissing softly, running his lips from Kurt's ear to his shoulder.

Kurt made a strangled noise and rocked forward, pressing their bodies flush for just a moment, then pulling his hips back, but not fast enough that Blaine hadn't felt a brief brush of hardness under Kurt's clothes.

"I like that," Kurt panted, unnecessarily. "Do that again."

Blaine flushed with _want_, and set his lips back to Kurt's neck, teasing along his jaw and listening to the little whimpers and exhales that it caused Kurt to make. He pulled back, sat up a little and hurriedly pulled his arms out of his sleeves.

"That's just Ragstock," he panted, tossing it over the side of the bed. Kurt slid out onto the floor, pulled his shirt off and hung it carefully over the back of his vanity chair. He was wearing a little white undershirt. A line of muscle that Blaine hadn't expected peaked out above the neckline, and his pale, bare arms were toned and strong looking in a way that was unexpected considering how bundled up and delicate Kurt always looked.

"Come here." Blaine threw an arm out to Kurt, who took his hand, and guided Kurt down onto him, Kurt's chest over his, the rest of his body on the bed. He cupped his hands around Kurt's shoulders and ran his palms over his arms as he set his mouth back to Kurt's neck, trying to kiss places he hadn't kissed yet and reveling a little in the fact that he finally had a boyfriend that he loved and could do this with. Kurt shivered against him.

"You're skin's so soft," Blaine murmured dumbly.

"I take care of it," Kurt answered, twisting his neck gracefully out of Blaine's reach and setting his mouth to Blaine's neck, imitating the same little kisses that Blaine had been giving him, but experimentally adding a flick of tongue to the spot underneath his ear.

Blaine moaned. The heat in his stomach coiled insistently, and his hips rocked up into the empty air where he wanted Kurt to be as Kurt slid his fingers into Blaine's hair and flicked his tongue over the spot again.

"You should wear your hair loose like this all the time," Kurt whispered, little puffs of his vanilla and raspberry scented breath hovering over Blaine's lips. "I like being able to run my hands through it."

"Kurt?" Blaine could hear the strain in his voice, "Kurt, how far are we going here? Where's the line?"

"The line?" Kurt asked.

"I don't want to push you. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

Kurt bit his lip, and gave Blaine a burning blue look he couldn't interpret before pulling back a little, holding himself up on his forearms against Blaine's chest.

"What?" Blaine asked, knowing he sounded a little desperate and not finding it in himself to care. "What's wrong?"

"How…" Kurt pulled back into himself a little, his chin lifted. It was a defensive retreat and Blaine wondered how he had managed to fuck this up. He was being a gentleman. Kurt liked that about him. "How far have you gone?"

"Me?" Blaine asked. They'd had the 'I've never even had a boyfriend' conversation.

"When… when we were doing faces in the mirror, you said… you offered to tell me what you knew about… sex," Kurt pulled back a little further. "What… what do you know?"

"Only what my friend Taylor told me," Blaine told him, attempting to sit up, hug Kurt, reassure him, but Kurt was essentially pinning him down to the bed. "He… he met up with a guy. From the internet. But he was very… clinical when he told me about it."

"No firsthand experience?" Kurt asked, his voice going high and careful. Blaine set his hands over Kurt's clenched fists on his chest, and felt the other boy relax a little.

"You were my first kiss that counted," Blaine told him. Kurt blushed and came back down to press their lips together.

"Where's _your_ line, Blaine?" Kurt asked after a while, when the heat between them had stoked back up and he was slipping one hand down around Blaine's side. "We're on equal footing here." He dropped his lips back to Blaine's neck, and Blaine moaned again, louder this time, loud enough that he was glad no one was home. "Tell me what you want."

"God, I want you on top of me," Blaine panted as Kurt started trying out new places along Blaine's neck to tease.

"Umm…" Kurt started.

"Is that okay?"

"I'd like to… it's just… I'm a little…" he stammered.

"What?"

The pretty pink flush across Kurt's skin deepened.

"Are you hard, Kurt?" Blaine asked, not quite sure he could really hear the words coming out of his mouth.

"Umm… yes."

"Me too."

"I've never done anything like this before," Kurt blurted out, dropping his forehead down to Blaine's chest.

"Me neither," Blaine told him. He slid his hand down Kurt's body, tucking it under his hip and pushing up a little bit. "Come on. If you want to stop, just tell me."

"Okay," Kurt blew out a breath, shifted up onto his knees and carefully straddled Blaine, leaving a little space between their hips before arching down to kiss him again. Blaine set his hands against the small of Kurt's back, not pushing, just holding.

"I love you," Blaine whispered, just because he could.

"I love you too," Kurt replied, breathless, before rolling his hips down.

Blaine's breath caught, the liquid heat in his stomach burning up through his chest and arms and down through his legs. His head snapped back against Kurt's pillows and his hips rocked up into Kurt's. Kurt made a soft "mnhh" sort of noise, and pressed back.

This was awesome, Blaine thought to himself as he and Kurt started to bypass some initial awkward rocking and settled into a rhythm. Kurt's mouth had dropped from his own and he was panting hot breath between kisses into the crook of Blaine's neck. Kurt was warm and heavy against his chest, and the heavy drag of Kurt's weight pulling the denim and cotton across his cock was providing just enough friction to keep everything hot and intense, but not enough to send him spiraling over.

But spiraling over was the only thing he could think about with Kurt murmuring nonsense into his skin. He set his hands to the small of Kurt's back. "Kurt, can I," he started. He needed more.

"Unh," Kurt replied unhelpfully.

Blaine pressed Kurt's hips down into his own as he rocked up. Kurt moaned and rutted against him, then froze.

"Stop."

Blaine dropped his hands down to the bed almost immediately, but couldn't quite hide the huff of disappointment that escaped him. Kurt lifted himself up onto his knees.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I jus-" Blaine started.

"No, it's okay… I just… it's a little… it's little too much… and I'm getting…too close."

"Me too. I want… can I just…" Blaine caught his breath. "Can I touch you?"

Kurt shook his head and shifted off of Blaine. "Not… not yet. Sorry."

"Don't apologize. That's okay."

"But I mean… if you need to-" Kurt said, blushing so deeply that even under his already aroused pink hue his skin reddened further and making a nonsense gesture that Blaine completely understood.

"You don't need to?" Blaine asked, in pure astonishment.

Kurt reddened even further, "I was going to… just go to the bathroom."

"What if we… both finished here? Together?"

"I'm not going to let you watch me," Kurt shook his head and backed further away.

That had been his plan. Blaine took a moment to reformulate."Okay… okay, how about this," he sat up, and scooted forward then turned around so that he and Kurt were pressed back to back.

"I don't know. This is sort of… weird."

"I'm not watching you, I don't have to touch you, and we don't have to calm back down," Blaine breathed.

Kurt was quiet for a moment.

"Okay… just… one second."

Blaine watched as Kurt got up, walking slightly bow-legged, went to his nightstand and delicately pulled a handful of Kleenexes out of it, handing a few to Blaine.

"I can't explain washing my sheets." He shrugged.

Just enough time had passed for the blood to start rushing back to Blaine's mind, and he realized that this didn't seem quite right.

"Kurt… are you sure about this? This isn't exactly romantic."

"Well.." Kurt shrugged, "They get to rehearse on Broadway. We're improvising," he blushed again, "And I… um… I want to hear you."

That was enough to push Blaine right back to the brink.

"Can… let's take off our shirts."

Blaine tugged his tee shirt over his head as Kurt settled back onto the bed behind him. There was movement behind him, then Kurt's warm, muscular back pressed against Blaine's.

Oh yeah, this would work, Blaine thought. There was the hiss of a zipper and Kurt shifted again, his insanely soft skin sliding against Blaine's.

"I'm gonna start," Kurt warned him.

Blaine hurried out of his own pants and settled back against Kurt, taking just a moment to revel in the feel of Kurt's muscles shifting under his own, before the sound of Kurt sucking a breath in through his teeth made Blaine's cock jump, protesting that it was being neglected. He wrapped his hand around it and started slow, listening to Kurt's hitched breathing.

He'd never done this before, but it was working for him. Kurt's warm shifting skin and the quiet sounds resulting from something he couldn't see was, while odd, maddeningly hot. And he was actually kind of glad that Kurt had shot down the idea of watching each other. Blaine wondered momentarily if that was the kind of thing that was supposed to be hot, but actually just got awkward. He stroked himself harder, and dropped his head back onto Kurt's shoulder, his ear pressed against Kurt's mouth at Kurt moaned.

Kurt came first, with a gasp and a low… rumbling sort of sound that Blaine never would have expected could come out of him. Kurt shifted against him, already putting himself back together as Blaine finished, quick enough with the kleenex to keep Kurt from needing to do inexplicable late night laundry, but not quite quick enough to keep his hands clean, distracted by the way Kurt was pressing his back against him and panting in his ear.

"Blaine?" Kurt asked, after a moment.

"Yeah," Blaine replied, low and rough.

"Was that okay?"

"Yeah, fuck, yes," Blaine responded, still catching his breath. He pulled himself one handed back into his underwear and scooted back on the bed a little bit so that he could kiss Kurt. "That was awesome."

Kurt kissed him hard and Blaine steadied his hand against Kurt's cheek. Kurt choked.

"What?"

"Your hand, Blaine."

"What?"

"Your hand is on my face," Kurt said, just indignant enough for the tone to cut into Blaine's post orgasm high.

"My-'

"Your hand is on my face. And it's… your messy hand is on my face."

Blaine was aware of the slight chill over his hand and the slight pull of fluid that had been transferred between his hand and Kurt's cheek.

"Oh god. I'm so sorry."

"Ummm… okay. This is less romantic than I was hoping for, after this whole… sexy compromise thing worked out," Kurt stammered.

"If you want to go wash your face I'll be ready for some extra romantic cuddling when you get back."

"In that case I could forgive you. But there needs to be romantic cuddling and patient waiting for me to do all of my moisturizing, because now I have to do my full skin routine. Which, by the way, is your fault."

Blaine laughed and, damage already done, kissed Kurt again.

"Do we have enough time before your dad gets home for moisturizing and cuddling?"

"We should."

"Okay. I'll wait here then."

"And get yourself another Kleenex," Kurt ordered as he got up.

* * *

><p>When Tina got home she had decided that she was too tired to deal with telling her parents about the whole "moving to LA for the summer" thing. She hid her registration materials under her seat, grabbed her purse, and went inside. She hugged both of her parents and when they asked if she had gotten in or not, she lied and said that they were going to get calls in the morning. She got ready for bed, grabbed her phone and texted Blaine.<p>

To Blaine Warbler: _I got in! You're probably with Kurt right now, but I need to talk to you tomorrow. Can I call you around noon?_

She hit send, flopped back into bed and was mostly of the way asleep when her phone buzzed.

From Mike 3: _Hey baby. How'd it go?_

She stared at the message for a moment, then, with a chill of guilt, turned her phone to silent and went to sleep.

* * *

><p>Kurt walked out the door, casting a dour look, partially betrayed by the smile blushing through it, at Blaine as he closed the door, then leaned against it.<p>

His knees were actually, literally, a little bit weak. Sure, there was still the little bit of lingering embarrassment that he hadn't been ready to go as far as Blaine had wanted to go, there was the touch of worry that Blaine did seem to want more than Kurt wanted just yet. And of course there was the ick factor to be dealt with right at the moment, but there was also Blaine, satisfied and shirtless in his bed, in an empty house, and who had been expecting some cuddling. Which he would get, as soon as Kurt washed his face and hands and got all the way through his moisturizing routine.

A creak sounded down the hallway and Kurt's head snapped toward it, watching in numb shock as the bathroom door opened. His heart stopped beating, and Rachel-_freaking_-Berry stepped out of his bathroom.

"Oh, Kurt!" she said, her face splitting into a grin as her eyes grazed over him and he flushed pink all the way down his bare chest. "You are much more muscular and hairy than I would have thought you'd be."

"What are you doing here?" Kurt demanded shrilly, barreling directly past the backhanded compliment that, if acknowledged, would force him to think about Rachel thinking about him shirtless.

"Finn and I came back here to grab a CD I lent him and start rehearsing immediately. I wanted to tell you right away, but umm… Blaine's car was here and your door was closed and I didn't _hear _anything, but I walked in on my dads once even when the whole house was totally silent and it wasn't pretty. Anyway-" she grasped his slightly sticky hands, "Kurt- The Lima Community Playhouse is putting up a summer show."

Kurt blushed even harder and twisted his hands out of Rachel's grip. But Rachel, undeterrable when solos were at stake, clapped her hands to his cheeks, dropping her palm directly onto The Spot, and Kurt felt a little part of himself die. His eyes jolted open in pure, unadulterated horror, and Rachel utterly failed to notice as she squealed "They're doing West Side Story!"

She took Kurt's inability to respond as shared dumbfounded joy and mercifully took her hand off the now wider Spot on Kurt's face. She glanced momentarily at her hand, then wiped it off on her dress.

"You have to audition!" She declared setting her hands at her hips and altering herself into a strangely flirty posture. "The 50's James Dean look would suit you. Remember the red jacket you wore when you sang 'I Wanna Hold Your Hand'? And we would-"

"Rachel," Kurt said, finally finding his voice, but completely unable to bring it down to a reasonable pitch, "Blaine didn't get into Six Flags, we're commiserating."

"Shirtless commiserating?" Rachel commented with a cartoonish wink.

"If Finn finds out about this I will make something terrible happen to you."

Rachel mimed zipping her mouth shut, and Kurt lamented not being able to think of a decent threat because all of his faculties, including increasingly the ones he used for breathing, were focused on the mark of… fluid drying on Rachel's dress. And on his face. And back in his room, on Blaine's hands.

"Well, bring him downstairs and we can cheer him up by working on his next audition!" Rachel stated brightly.

"Okay," Kurt responded, stepping past her into the bathroom and shutting the door. He successfully kept himself from thinking about the awful thing that had just happened while he washed his face, and most of the way back to his room. He closed his door firmly behind him, pressed his hand to his temple and realized that Blaine was missing.

"Blaine?"

The corner of his bed skirt lifted, and Blaine's head peeked out.

"What are you doing?"

"I heard you talking in the hallway. This seemed like a good idea when I first panicked. In case it was Carol or your Dad. I was going to sneak out of your window."

"Your car is in the driveway."

"Right," Blaine sighed, dropping his forehead down to the floor in embarrassment. "Sorry… I wasn't thinking straight. I'm all… flustered. I didn't have a plan." Blaine pulls himself, still shirtless, out from under Kurt's bed and slowly unfurls upward.

"Okay… here is the plan from here on out," Kurt says. "We are going to get dressed. I am going to moisturize. You are going to wash your hands, and then you are going to go downstairs and think of a way to clean the… substance off of Rachel's dress, without letting her realize what you're doing."

"Wait- what?"

"Rachel and Finn are downstairs-"

"Oh god they didn't-"

"Welcome to the list of things I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying not to think about," Kurt cut him off. "Rachel was in the hallway. She touched my face and wiped her hand off on her dress. Her dark green dress. And as annoying as she is, no one deserves to be sent home to their fathers with a spot of… _stuff_ drying on their dress that they are in no way responsible for and are totally oblivious too. Go help her. Surreptitiously. Now."

Blaine looked at him like the world was ending, or at least that was how Kurt interpreted it.

"Are you telling me that I have to go clean my come off of Rachel?"

"Right now," Kurt confirmed.

"How did she manage to make _this_ dramatic?" Blaine begs of the unfair world at large as he pulls his shirt back on.

"Because someone sent Rachel Berry into my life to ruin absolutely everything. And this was so good," he whined.

"Wait did you say Finn?" Blaine demanded, pulling his T-shirt back on.

"They are downstairs. They were going to rehearse, but your car was outside and my door was closed so Rachel-"

"Told Finn not to interrupt us. He's going to kill me."

"Why?"

"For corrupting his little brother!"

"I'm two months older. And this was my idea!"

"You know what I mean."

"Go help Rachel. And then come back up here," Kurt said, already sitting down at his vanity and beginning to erase the last five minutes from his memory, especially trying not to think about how they could be offered up as pretty convincing proof that if there was a god, the old bastard had it in for one Kurt Hummel.

As he applied the final cream, Blaine walked back into the room, looking distinctly ashen.

"I called Rachel 'girlfriend'," he said solemnly.

"You did what?" Kurt demanded.

"I went downstairs and Finn was giving me this look, like this predatory football player look and I panicked. And I was all like 'Hey Rachel, oh no girlfriend you've got deodorant on your dress! Let me help you with that.' Anyway. Now we have to go downstairs and listen to Rachel sing 'Tonight', cause otherwise Finn might kill me."

"I'll take care of Finn," Kurt sighed. "And we need to go downstairs anyway. Dad and Carol will be home soon and you're no good under pressure."

"No I am not," Blaine confirmed.

"And if you call my father 'girlfriend' I'm going to be forced to break up with you just because I'll never fully recover from the embarrassment."

Blaine came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Kurt's shoulders with a sigh.

"I'm not really going to break up with you," Kurt said softly. "I was kidding."

"I know," Blaine replied. "I just wanted you to know that up until Rachel Berry and the Horror, tonight was great, and I'm really glad I didn't get into Six Flags, because now I get to spend the summer with you." He kissed Kurt's perfectly moisturized temple with his kiss chapped lips, "I love you."

Kurt wondered for a moment if hearing those words from Blaine was always going to send a bolt of electric ice through his chest, then decided it was okay if it did and replied, "I love you too."

"Think of it this way- an awkward first time may not get us up to Broadway epic romance, but it's at least a good first act Rom-Com thing right?" Blaine said.

"You just had to go help Rachel clean her dress. I'm sticking with horror flick," Kurt sighed, grabbing Blaine's hand and heading downstairs to the sound of Rachel's voice powerhousing its way up the stairs.

* * *

><p>"So, did you like the movie?" Dave asked tentatively. Santana was in a mood. It radiated off her like heat waves over boiling asphalt. People several feet away were taking steps back from her and not even sure what had made them move.<p>

"It was okay," she replied. "Take me home."

"I was kind of hoping," Dave started, knowing he was pushing his luck but needing this too badly not to chance Santana's razor-blade ridden rage, "That we could, you know… go somewhere?"

Santana side eyed him aggressively. "What do you really want Karofsky?"

"To not go directly home after a movie with my supposed girlfriend. To seem like a real jock with a real girlfriend."

Santana sighed, that expressively hateful sigh that Dave thought would have made him do anything she wanted if he was actually her boyfriend.

"To not go back to my house and to talk to the only gay person I know who speaks to me," Dave said quietly.

Santana deflated a little, the circle of her anger drawing in. "Fine."

"Lover's Lane?" Dave suggested, with just a hint of a laugh that if pressed he would have to describe as bitter underneath it.

Santana snorted, "Sure. It's as good a place as any for some lady chats."

"I'm not a lady," Dave snapped instantly.

"Yeah, well, neither am I," Santana said, leaning forward to turn on the radio. "Drive."

Dave obeyed, and they didn't speak until they had reached the end of a long line of cars with fogged windows, out at the edge of town.

"Should we like… hold hands at least or something?" Dave asked, suddenly very aware of a foot hanging out of the neighboring car, twitching. "I've never been up here before."

"No one will notice, Dave. If a meteor hit the only people that would even slow down would be the ones that were directly hit."

"Did you ever… come up here with Puck?" Dave asked.

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

Dave held his hands in front of him in what he hoped was a calming gesture. "I'm not implying anything okay? I don't want to hurt you, or piss you off, I just want to talk to you."

"Why?"

Dave dropped his head back against the head rest, hard. "My mom is only working part time, and my brother is back from college for the summer. And I have to lie _all of the time_ and if I don't have _someone_ I can talk to, I'm going to _snap_,"he admitted, wishing more than anything that this was a real date, and that Santana was his real girlfriend, and that when he got home tonight and his brother dropped by his room and started winking, that anything he said to him would be real.

Santana raked her liquid black eyes, that Dave was only too well aware he only appreciated as objectively beautiful, over him. "Yeah. I've been here with Puck before. And a couple other guys from the football team, and a few of the basketball guys and one or two soccer players."

"See, that's what I don't understand. I mean… I've never had a girlfriend, but you've got a string of… you know. Conquests. No offense. Why do you even need me?"

Santana wrapped her arms around herself, as though she was cold. "Let's sit in the back seat," she said, already opening the door. Dave took that as a good sign and followed her. Santana dropped into the seat across from him, effortlessly bent forward and reclined the front seat forward, then dropped her feet on top of it.

"Santana?"

"Because I stopped doing all of that, and I needed something to hide the real reason. Plus it was the simplest way to neuter you as the big bully and get Kurt back. And I like Kurt, and we needed him for Nationals, but- not gonna lie- it's super comforting to have the gay mother ship strutting up and down the hallways drowning out everyone else's signal on the gaydar."

"What's the real reason?" Dave asked quietly, not wanting to talk about Kurt. At all.

"I love someone for real. Faking it with boys is getting exhausting. Not to mention unhygienic. Plus I was already played out on the slut thing. About the third time you take a cock to the back of the throat even the power trip isn't worth it."

"So you've … you've been with guys, but you're in love with a girl?"

"That's where the lesbian part comes in."

"And you've… actually, like _been with_ this girl?"

"You know what Doctor Phil, this whole outing was about you. Not me. So let's shift the spotlight here. How do Kurt and Blaine know about you?"

Dave squirmed. "I really don't want to talk about that."

"Fine. Take me home."

Dave stared down at his hands, watched them tightening together. The whole reason he had called Santana, and taken her out to ice cream, and a movie, and up here, and fried in the heat of her mood, was so that he could just not_ lie_ for a little while.

"I lost my head around Kurt. He told Blaine about it."

"What happened?"

"He umm… I shoved him and he snapped and he followed me into the locker room… and he was just yelling, and he was so close, and he… I don't know why I did it."

"What did you do?"

"I umm… he was right in my face, and I …. I've apologized to him for it… I wish I hadn't… but I can't take it back…"

He unclenches his hands, aware that they're shaking a little bit. "I kissed him." He barely whispers it. It almost gets lost in the sound of thunking from the next car over, but Santana hears it.

"Oh my god. When was this?"

"Before he transferred. Like a long time before he transferred. He didn't tell anyone. I don't get that. I mean… if it was you, Santana, you'd've told someone right?"

"Oh hell yes I would have," She replies, slumping back against her seat. "So… do you like him?"

"No!" Dave replies immediately, realizing it sounds like too much, but he doesn't. "It's just… he was there… you know what I mean… it was like… everything just boiled over all at once, cause I never thought he'd fight back… and …. " his voice got rough, his eyes started to sting, he coughed and fought himself back into jock mode. "Yeah… so he knows. He and… the other kid tried to come talk to me about it, and I told them to get lost."

Santana sighed. She looked him over in the moonlight, and scooted a little closer to him. "It's Brittany. Brittany Pierce," she said quietly. "We've been sort of together since last year, but I didn't want to think about what it meant, so when she tried to make it a little more official, I freaked out. She started dating Artie to get back at me, and then even though we were still fooling around we weren't together, and then when I finally started to get my shit together she wouldn't leave Artie. Then Artie called her stupid and they broke up, but now we aren't together because she doesn't want to be with me if I can't be, you know… out. And I love her, but I just… I can't."

"Is it your family?" Dave asked. "Would they-"

"Yeah. I've got a distant cousin we don't talk about and I'm kind of a daddy's girl. He'd freak. Possibly not as much as he would freak about a few other things," she shrugged, "But I can't. Thus this whole arrangement," she flicked her hand between the two of them. "What about you?"

"I don't want to think about it. It's never come up in my house. It's not a topic of discussion. When there's stuff on the news, or whatever, my parents don't talk about it. My brother's complained about how you can't say "fag" where the professor's can hear you at UNO, but that's about it."

"Sure."

"I'm… I'm worried about the shock," he admitted out loud for the first time. "Look at me," he said, tugging at his letterman jacket. "This isn't how my life is supposed to go. I'm not… look at Kurt and Blaine. That's not me. I'm a jock. I don't own nice clothes, or watch chick flicks. I'm supposed to be… you know. Normal."

"Yeah," Santana agreed. "I'm wearing false eyelashes and a dress on a fake date. I don't play golf. I don't like dogs." She slumps back against the seat even further. "How did this happen to us?"

Her phone buzzes and she pulls it out of her pocket.

"Shit. Curfew. Now you actually have to take me home."

"Alright."

They climb back into the front and Dave starts the car. "So… later, when my brother asks, what should I say happened?"

"Um… we went up to Lover's Lane, I let you get to second, you tried for third and I stopped you." Santana said.

"What do your boobs feel like?" Dave asked, worried about how she might take that.

"First off- amazing."

"I need actual detail here for this to work."

"Warm," She shrugged."A little heavy. Oh, and they're fake so they aren't quite as soft as the real deal."

"And your lip gloss was kind of sticky?"

"A little. It's cherry flavored too."

Dave pulled up in front of Santana's house, which for all of her posturing about "Lima Heights Adjacent" looked a lot like his own house.

"Here, turn towards me," Santana said. Dave turned to see her brandishing a small tube. There was a pop and a scent of cherries. She dabbed the wand against his lips, then pressed her thumb into the spots she'd left, smudging it across his lips and little down his chin, then, as an afterthought, to the side of his neck. "One to grow on."

Dave laughed, and actually meant it. "Thanks, Santana. You're a good fake girlfriend."

"You know it," she said, climbing out of the car and sashaying up to her house.

When David got home his brother was waiting in the living room. He got a kick out of the messy lip gloss, he believed the description of Santana's fake breasts, and Dave fell asleep almost immediately.


	6. Freaking Nothing Rhymes with Middleton

Blaine hadn't really woken up until he was in the passenger side of his father's car. Up until that point it had all been blurry thoughts like "Alarms are bad.", "5:00 am is bad.", "Yum. Poptarts are good."

But when his father turned down the painful "Easy Listening" XM radio station, Blaine shook himself awake. He knew better than to talk to his father half asleep, even if his father had made a big deal last night about wanting Blaine to come to the club to play a game of racquetball with him, a business associate and a business associate's son before work.

"Your summer's been busy," his father started.

"So far, yes," Blaine replied.

"It's too bad you didn't get into the Six Flags show."

"Well… there are other things I can do this year."

"You've been spending a lot of time at the Hummel's."

Blaine sighed. He and his father had never been close. He'd given up on trying to have actual discussions about his day sometime around sixth grade, and then been too afraid to talk about his day around the time he had hit thirteen, then after he had come out, the opportunity just hadn't been there. They didn't have anything to say to each other. And when his father had tried to talk to him there had always been… subtext. Ulterior motives.

So this is how they talked to each other now. Everything in diplomatic statements, too true to argue with. It was only in the last couple months that he'd even tried to respond with anything more than agreements and maybe one or two sentences of elaboration. He knew he was doing it with the utterly naïve hope that his father would suddenly respond like Burt Hummel did. Like he was listening. Like he was trying.

"Yeah. Kurt's step-brother's girlfriend really wants to audition for the community theater's production of West Side Story. She kind of talked me into it. Kurt's step-brother- Finn? He's probably going to audition too. We've all been rehearsing. And then Kurt's writing a musical, so I've been listening to his drafts."

"Kurt's writing a musical."

"Yeah. It's … I don't really get it. It's about Pippa Middleton. Kate Middleton's sister. Kurt DVR'ed the royal wedding and I think he watches it like once a week."

"Oh."

"The musical might be fun. It's West Side Story."

"I've seen that."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. With your mother. In New York."

"Well… Rachel's amazing. She's got Maria in the bag. I was thinking that I might like to get Bernardo. That might be fun."

"Is Kurt auditioning?"

Wow. He'd gotten his father worked up enough for an actual question. It was even a question about Kurt.

"He's not sure yet. He's got his musical going on, and he's got a couple sewing projects, which tend to be major endeavors, plus he's a counter tenor, so it's hard to find a part to fit his voice."

"Counter tenor?"

"It's a high register, almost a soprano. It's pretty rare and it's really beautiful." Blaine said, then realized that maybe he was still too blurry in the brain to be talking to his father if he had just referred to Kurt as not just existing, but as "rare and really beautiful".

"Oh. That must have been a real coup for the Warblers then."

"For a while. Yeah." Blaine agreed.

They reached the club, parked in one of the front row spots that their membership got them, and took their equipment out of the back of the SUV, Blaine yawning widely as they walked inside.

His father presented their cards to the pretty blonde receptionist, who Blaine didn't recognize until after he'd yawned again and she'd laughed at him and said "Good Morning, Blaine."

He blinked and allowed her to come into clearer focus. "Quinn! You cut your hair. You look beautiful."

Quinn smiled at him, the only sincere looking smile he had ever seen from her.

"You changed your hair too."

"Yeah, it's mousse. Kurt bought it for me." He told her, brushing his fingers through it a little to show off how it moved now.

He wished he could tell her how excited he had been that Kurt had actually bought him hair stuff, because was such a relationship-y sort of thing. But he couldn't bring that up in front of his father, and would be insensitive to bring it up to Quinn, who hadn't been dumped by Finn all that long ago. Which was too bad, because she would probably understand why he was excited. Wes hadn't responded at all, which had still been better than Thad's, "So… how whipped are you exactly?"

"Well, it's a very cute look," she told him glancing quickly at his father, who cleared his throat.

"Blaine?"

Right, manners.

"Sorry. Dad this is Quinn Fabre, she's a friend of Kurt and Finn's. She's in McKinley's Glee Club. Quinn this is my father, Chester Anderson."

"Nice to meet you Mr. Anderson," Quinn said, shaking his hand.

"Quinn Fabre… Russell Fabre's daughter?"

Blaine noticed the way that Quinn's eyes went glassy and her voice, usually sweet and just a little breathy, went cold. "No, sir. No relation."

"Well, it was nice to meet you Miss Fabre. Come on, Blaine, we'll miss our court reservation."

Blaine waved a goodbye at Quinn as he followed his father to the locker rooms.

"Well. That's odd. I could have sworn Russell mentioned he had a daughter named Quinn. Of course, I haven't spoken to the man in… well. Months. Ran into some trouble. What does Quinn's father do?"

"I don't know," Blaine replied. "I didn't ask."

"Well." His father shrugged. "Very beautiful girl, isn't she."

* * *

><p>Finn had always wanted a brother growing up. He used to think about it all the time. How great it would be to have someone to play football or catch with when he was bored during the summer, because as much as he hated school, at least there were other kids to play with there. How it would be nice to have an older brother to help him with his homework, or give him advice about girls.<p>

That urge basically explained his entire friendship with Puck. Even in elementary school Puck had always acted older. Always knew all about the stuff that Finn had never even heard of. Puck had played football with him. Talked him into his first beer. Described boobs to him in endless detail back when Finn had still been afraid to even talk to girls.

And then everything with Quinn had happened, and Puck had disappeared for reasons that Finn hadn't understood, and Kurt had stepped in. Helped him come up with a way to tell Quinn's parents what was going on. Helped him clean up his father's suit. Been there for him when Finn had panicked.

Kurt hadn't been what Finn had imagined when he'd been crying in his room wishing he had someone to help him with Quinn. He hadn't been anything like the older brother that Finn had always imagined going to games and talking about girls with. And the thing with Quinn's parents had been a disaster.

Later that night, after Quinn had finally fallen asleep, Finn had realized that his reasoning that Kurt was a good person to ask about talking to Quinn's parents because he would understand how to tell parents a big secret they didn't want to hear didn't mean he was a good person to ask about _Quinn's parents_, but at least Kurt had tried to help. And even later after that, when Fin hadn't been able to avoid acknowledging that Kurt, you know, _liked_ him, he couldn't ever make himself believe that Kurt would have made it a disaster on purpose. Kurt made him uncomfortable, but he was still a good person.

Puck was the brother that Finn had always imagined having. Kurt was the brother he had gotten, and it was still a little awkward. They had put the weird dude crush way behind them, Finn was pretty sure that Kurt had forgiven him for what had happened in the basement last year and Finn had lived with Kurt long enough now to understand that he hadn't actually meant anything by it. That it was just another example of how Kurt had to be… _Kurt_ as loudly as possible, all the time, and that he really had been trying to help when he'd redecorated, he really had though the privacy partition would be enough. And they had bonded a little further over the funeral for Miss Sylvester's sister. They hadn't had to talk about it, but it had kind of forced them to acknowledge how much they had in common. How both of them had pieces of their families missing, and how they were going to be those pieces for each other now.

But things weren't perfect, Finn was learning, but he still didn't really get Kurt. He still felt awful that Sam had been the one to step up when things had gotten down to the wire with Karofsky. Finn still felt awful that Kurt hadn't thought of Finn as the brother that Finn had always wanted, and always wanted to be, the brother that he could have come to when his life was threatened.

And Finn was also… he had known Karofsky since 4th grade. It wasn't a stretch for Puck to start tossing people in dumpsters, Puck had always had to be better than somebody. And Puck never tossed people in the gross dumpsters. He did it right away in the morning so that there wasn't food in them, and he never tossed people that hard. One time he'd tossed Jacob Ben Israel, and helped him back out because he'd had an asthma attack.

But Karofsky had just been a happy, normal kid, who got decent grades but wasn't such a dork that Puck would tease him, and who liked gym. Karofsky hadn't started to get mean until he'd started hanging out with Azimio, and even then, it had been weird when they'd started feeding off each other and thinking up things like the 10:00 am slushie. Even after it had all happened, Finn sometimes still couldn't believe that Dave Karofsky had gone far enough off the deep end to actually threaten Kurt.

And then Finn had seen when Kurt had wanted to talk to Karofsky alone before he'd come back to school. And Finn had lived with Kurt long enough to recognize the look on Kurt's face. The look he had when he was angry at you for being stupid, but he was going to help you anyway, even though he knew it wouldn't make you less stupid, and he was angry at you for that too.

And Finn had realized that he had crossed a line with Kurt too, once, because Kurt had been… pushing. But when Kurt pushed, everyone knew it. When he had been pushing Sam, even people on the team that never picked up on those things had mentioned it to Finn.

And there was just no way that Kurt would ever have… pushed for Karofsky. Karofsky had always been terrible to Kurt, and Kurt only liked guys that were nice to him.

And watching Kurt talk to Karofsky like that, it had occurred to Finn-Karofsky had never had a girlfriend. When the football team and the cheerios had parties and everyone got drunk, Karofsky was the only person who ever had one beer, then stopped and was sober enough to drive home. He was the only one who didn't wind up with a Cheerio in his lap. He was the only one who didn't disappear somewhere with a girl.

Before Finn and Puck had stopped talking to Karofsky because he had said that Azimio said you shouldn't hang out with boys who didn't have fathers, they had all just started to hit that age where girls were a constant topic of conversation. Puck was the only one who could chase girls and get them to smile at him, and he had cable, and he would tell Finn and Karofsky and the other boys all sorts of things about girls that Finn had been sure couldn't possibly be true (most of which had turned out not be true). And Karofsky had been the only one who was always more interested in playing video games than listening to Puck talk about girls, and he had also been the only one who, when Puck told them something that was just gross, had only been disgusted and not even a little bit interested.

And so Finn had made a guess, but wasn't sure if it was a good guess. Because Blaine was gay and liked football, but Kurt didn't like football. They both liked clothes, and he couldn't imagine Karofsky liking clothes. They both liked glee club, and Finn knew that Karofsky had wanted to join glee club, but Finn, Puck, Mike, Artie, Sam and Mr. Shue all loved glee club. And Blaine was scared of girls, but Kurt's best friends were girls and he went to girl's sleepovers.

And Finn wasn't going to ask Kurt about his guess because he didn't want to make Kurt mad. Kurt mad was scary enough, Kurt mad about Gay Stuff was completely terrifying, and if Finn still wasn't the type of brother that Kurt could talk to about that sort of stuff, then Finn needed to work harder on being that kind of brother first. Besides, Kurt had Blaine now, and hopefully he could talk to Blaine about things like that. Also, while he could kind of understand why Karofsky would hate Kurt more if Karofsky was gay, no matter how many times Finn thought about it, he couldn't imagine how Kurt would have found out if Karofsky was gay.

But there were a lot of things that _were_ easy to talk to Kurt about, that he got excited about helping Finn with, and now Finn needed help with all of them.

He knocked on Kurt's door.

"Come in, Finn," Kurt yelled.

Finn opened the door. "How did you know it was me?"

"I can hear you tromping up the stairs," Kurt replied. He was sitting up in his bed, staring intently at his computer with his I-pod playing, a song Finn didn't recognize, but, between dating Rachel and living with Kurt, knew was Barbra Streisand.

"What are you working on?" Finn asked.

"Pip, Pip, Hurray," Kurt answered without looking up, "The Broadway Musical about Pippa Middleton."

"Oh," Finn said, realizing that his life had gotten weird because he totally knew who that was, because Kurt had watched the Royal Wedding like a million times and Finn had gotten sucked into watching everyone's funny hats a couple of times.

"But freaking nothing rhymes with Middleton and I've already had three cups of coffee and I think I need to take a break and go eat something before Blaine comes over," Kurt sighed, snapping his computer shut. "What do you need?"

"I need you to watch West Side Story with me and explain it to me. I'm going to audition with Rachel and I really want to get in."

Kurt gave him that look he had with his eyebrows raised really high and a smile on his face. That was a good sign. The raised eyebrows and a frown meant he was going to get yelled at all in SAT vocab words, but it was always a good sign when Kurt smiled. It had taken a while to get used to that. When Quinn smiled something terrible usually happened, but not until later, when Finn wasn't expecting it.

"You really want to get into a community production of West Side Story in Lilly White Lima?" Kurt asked.

"Yeah. Rocky Horror was fun."

"Rocky Horror?" Kurt asked, doing that thing where he pulled his chin in, "When you got suspended for walking down the hallway mostly naked and Sam's blood sugar dropped so low from trying to starve himself into those gold shorts that he started screaming "You're a hot dog!" in the middle of math class and passed out on top of Homeless Brent's desk, that was fun?" Kurt asked. He flicked his eyes over Finn, smiled and sighed. "Rachel's mellowed out a lot. You wouldn't have to get into this show to impress her."

"This isn't about Rachel. Miss Pillsbury said that kids who excel in the arts get college scholarships. And it's summer. And Rocky Horror _was_ fun."

"Right. Admit that this is about Rachel and I'll help you."

"Admit that you and Blaine were doing more than hanging out when you were home alone last week." Finn countered.

Kurt's mouth went tight and his eyes got wide. "Do you have a problem with that?" he demanded.

Dammit. Finn had stepped right into the Gay Stuff Argument. He had just been playing. "No!" he huffed. "I don't have a problem with that."

"Because Blaine said you were giving him a weird look when he came down to talk to Rachel."

"Well… I probably gave him a weird look because it was a surprise to see him come downstairs with crazy sex hair." Kurt raised his eyebrows at him, but Finn kept going, "And then he started talking to Rachel like he was drunk and maybe I was a little worried about you."

"Worried about me?"

"Yeah."

"Because it looked like I'd been foo- like I'd been upstairs with Blaine?"

"No," Finn sighed. Why did Kurt have to make everything so hard? "Kurt-I like Blaine. I like that you like Blaine. But Rachel once told me that you forgive your first love anything… and Quinn was my first love and I let her treat me really badly sometimes. And now… you've got Blaine. And… I want him to not treat you badly. Like fooling around when you're drunk. Cause I've seen you drunk."

"Oh…" Kurt's expression softened and Finn congratulated himself.

"And I think that you and me should set up some sort of… you know. Home alone code. because this is totally about Rachel. And if you would just admit that you and Blaine were… doing… like…stuff, then we could have a system. Like a brother system to warn each other if Mom or Burt comes home. Or too call dibs on times so you can be alone with Blaine and I can be alone with Rachel."

"Or so that you would know not to let Rachel upstairs?" Kurt asked, his tone lighter than the glare suggested.

"Exactly."

"Fine. No details, but yes. Blaine and I were…" Kurt blushed, "not just hanging out."

Finn almost said that it was totally fine if Kurt never gave him details, because even though he and Kurt were brothers now, there were things he was happy never knowing. But that wasn't the brother he wanted to be, and this might be his chance.

"Okay. But you know you can tell me details right? Like if you wanted to talk about… stuff with Blaine… we could do that?"

Kurt looked up at him, one of those drawn in looks that Finn hadn't figured out yet.

"I'll keep that in mind. Especially because I am about to help you with Rachel." His face loosened, and he looked over Finn and sighed. "Rachel's going to try to get you to play Tony and be her romantic co-star, but you aren't quite in the right range for that. Besides, you two look silly enough in real life. No one's going to be able to light you towering over her like the Empire State Building over Fay Wray. You would, however, make a fabulous Riff. And I think you'd have the most fun doing that. So we'll look for a song that shows off some attitude and physicality."

"Riff?"

"You're a badass gang leader and you die in a knife fight halfway through the show."

Finn grinned. This is why he'd asked Kurt for help. Rachel would have made this boring.

"So… you'll watch the movie with me? I already found it on Netflix and got it hooked up to my X-box."

The door bell rang.

"Oh… that's probably Blaine," Kurt said, sounding somewhat apologetic.

"Oh. Well. We could watch it when you guys get back from… you know, whatever."

Kurt shrugged, "Or he could watch it with us. He wants to audition too. We were going to watch it sometime this week anyway."

"Yeah. That would be great."

"You start the movie and make popcorn, I'll go let Blaine in."

* * *

><p>The door bell rang again before Kurt even got to the door, and he wondered if maybe it wasn't Blaine after all, because ringing the door bell that many times seemed a little rude. But it made sense when he actually opened the door.<p>

A thoroughly alarmed, bordering on distressed, Blaine, was being bear hugged by Puck.

"I mean you get it right? After you almost had to leave for Six Flags like Tina? I mean you get it?"

"Yeah, Puck," Blaine said, patting Puck as though afraid he had slime or sharp fins on his back, "I get it. But Lauren said she has internet access. You can email her. You could send her packages. She's going to have access to her phone. You could call her. Leave her texts. "

"I just can't believe she didn't tell me about this earlier. You know?"

"Yeah, Puck. I know," Blaine said. Kurt pursed his lips at him. Blaine, underneath a miserable football player, had gone into full Dalton Boy Mentor Mode.

"Are you coming in?" Kurt asked.

Puck snapped out of it for just a moment, letting go of Blaine long enough for Blaine to step out of his grip and hurry into the house. Puck followed, stopping to give Kurt a much less in-depth hug that was nonetheless startling.

"Finn's here right?" Puck asked, arms still around Kurt.

"Yeah. We were going to watch West Side Story."

"West Side Story?"

"You'd like it," Blaine said, "It's a musical about gangs."

"And if you let go of me, I'll invite you to stay," Kurt said.

Puck laughed, just a mirthless exhalation, but let go of Kurt and straightened up.

"I could be into that."

"Finn's in the kitchen," Kurt said, jerking a thumb behind him. Puck walked off with a sniff.

"Okay- what in the hell was that?" Kurt demanded of Blaine, who was standing next to the banister, as though he had purposefully picked a defensive position from which he had the strategic ability to ward off another hug.

"Lauren left for Oregon this morning and he's upset," Blaine said, rubbing his eyes.

"Oh." Kurt said softly. He understood that. If Blaine had shipped out across the country for Six Flags Kurt would have been upset too. Not collapsing in tears on strangers upset, but closer to Puck's version of upset than to Mike's version, where he had very awkwardly left Tina's Going Away and Good Luck party after he had only been there for half an hour.

"So we're watching West Side Story?"

"Yeah. If that's okay. I mean… we didn't have solid plans for today anyway and Finn… it's kind of an important brother thing."

"That's fine. I've been up since five. I am all about laying on a couch with you and watching a movie," Blaine yawned again and Kurt grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the couch.

"Five, huh?"

"Yeah. My dad wanted me to go play racquetball with a business associate and his son."

"Why?"

"The son goes to Princeton. My dad wants me to go to Princeton. I mentioned NYU, so he found someone he thought would have an easier time convincing me to go to Princeton," Blaine yawned again and settled against Kurt, his head on Kurt's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said, not sure what other response he could give.

"It's fine. College is really important, I haven't made a final decision yet, and I've got plenty of time to think about it."

"Yeah," Kurt said, ignoring the little twist in his stomach, and bringing his hand up to rub his fingers against Blaine's newly liberated scalp.

Kurt wasn't one hundred percent set on New York either. Just because it had been amazing and Rachel had gone full drama queen about the whole thing didn't mean he had made up his mind about his future within a few minutes on a Broadway stage. Besides. Princeton was… somewhere in New Jersey. It couldn't be that far away from New York City. "But your dad invited you to something. That's good right?"

"I'm on the fence about that actually," Blaine said. They didn't talk about Blaine's family. Kurt had asked once why they never hung out at Blaine's house, Blaine had tried very hard not to answer and Kurt had let the subject drop. But after that, every once in a while, Blaine had mentioned something about his father. About how he wished that his Dad was more like Kurt's. "Oh well. It certainly wasn't a bad sign."

"Blaine, you're getting sort of… private school on me," Kurt said. Blaine laughed and settled against him more, rocking his head back into Kurt's hand.

"Sorry. I'm exhausted. It's a default."

There was the sound of a throat clearing behind them, and Blaine pulled away sharply as Finn handed them both bowls of popcorn.

Puck and Finn dropped onto opposite sides of the other couch and Finn hit play. Kurt let them fast forward the overture, and was halfway through explaining the dance/gang fight opening sequence when Puck hit pause, held out a hand and said.

"Dudes- you know you can cuddle in front of us right?"

Kurt flushed a little bit, but Blaine gratefully sank back onto him.

"I mean… you're both here and in love and no one suddenly moved to Oregon."

Finn patted Puck roughly on the back and hit play.

"So… I'm not going to have to be able to do any of the ballet stuff right?"

* * *

><p>Burt pulled up to the house to find Blaine's pretty little car gleaming in the driveway again and groaned inwardly.<p>

He really did like the kid. He was polite, possibly even to a fault, he had a head on his shoulders, and you could tell after two minutes with Blaine that he was convinced that the sun only shined when Kurt told it to. Carol adored him.

And Blaine made Kurt smiled like he used to, that big broad tea-party giggle with all his teeth showing, the smile he used to have all the time, before his mom died, before school, before he spent most of his days being hurt over and over again, before being the only out gay kid, before being tormented by Karofsky.

So yeah, Burt really did like Blaine. Which is why he had specifically left the rabbit food Kurt had made him in the fridge this morning. Because Burt was happy for them, verging on supportive, but he was still a parent, and he knew that the easiest way to stop… inappropriateness… was the constant fear of someone's father walking in on you. This Blaine Warbler was the kind of kid who would get caught once and stay afraid of getting caught again. Burt could like Blaine in peace if he never had to think about what he and Kurt might be doing in an empty house, and if he scared Blaine, Blaine might scare Finn and Rachel, or Quinn, or whoever Finn was dating now. An ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure.

So, while Burt had fully braced himself for hormonal teenagers as he parked in the driveway and quietly went in through the garage, he did not expect what he found, which was Finn, Puck, Kurt and Blaine, watching the end of a musical together, with Blaine laying against Kurt, dead asleep, and Puck sobbing while Finn patted his back uncomfortably.

He waved a greeting to the kids, pretty sure they hadn't noticed him, and grabbed his salad and turkey sandwich out of the fridge before heading back to work.

Maybe he'd just have to "forget" his lunch again later this week.


	7. Encouraging the Arts

_So here's what you missed on Glee: _

Summer's started and the Hudmel house is unsupervised for hours at a time, which would be better for Kurt and Blaine if they weren't always getting interrupted by Rachel and Finn, or that one time Puck. But really, the worst time was Rachel.

Karofsky and Santana are pretending to date to hide their secret, and Sam and Mercedes are secretly dating. Plus Sam and Mercedes hate Karofsky, and Karofsky has a crush and somewhat scary sex dreams about Sam. Yeah. It's weird like that.

Santana's sad because Brittany is spending the summer in Iceland, and she doesn't know if Brittany loves her or not. Mike is mad because Tina said she loves him, but still ditched another summer at Asian Camp with him to perform at Six Flags in Los Angeles. And Puck is sad because he loves Lauren and she's going to be in Oregon at wrestling camp all summer. He's really sad. Like devastated.

Plus, Finn is trying to prove he can keep up with Rachel when she moves to New York next year to become a star, and Rachel is trying to get everyone to audition for the community theater production of West Side Story, even though it'll probably be really lame.

Speaking of really lame, Jesse St. James is back in Ohio

And that's what you missed on

_GLEE!_

* * *

><p><em>Dear Journal,<em>

_I find myself in a conundrum, Journal. In a fit of conscious, compassion and quickly staunched floods of actual emotion caused by Jeanie's funeral, I did something terrible: I volunteered. _

_Not only did I agree to spend both my time and talent without compensation, I Sue Sylvester, have been outfoxed! Anderson, Anderson and Andersen, the law firm I depend on to force through even the broadest of my contractual demands, have an actor turned director in their midst, and, not content to armchair presenter his way through a vibrantly homosexual Oscar party, he has made himself a Board Member for the Lima Community Playhouse, taken advantage of my moment of heartfelt weakness, and locked me in to choreographing West Side Story: a musical as insipid as it is racist. _

_My only recourse is to find my own replacement, which would mean finding an artistic personality and putting myself in danger of two things: being close enough to an artistic personality to smell their disgusting, bohemian body odor, and encouraging an artistic personality to pursue exactly the type of dreams that, once inevitably crushed, will engender the same sort of starry-eyed nostalgia that powers Will Shuester's disastrous belief in his aggravating glee club. _

_What can I do, Journal? Either way I am encouraging the arts!_

_If only I could push this off onto some self-absorbed, acerbic bastard who could crush the spirits of those hippies so that I don't have to, and can return to my previous summer plans of hijacking Sarah Palin's tour bus for a patriotically tinged re-enactment of "Speed"!_

A knock sounded at Sue's office door, too confident a knock to have come from some brown-noser just come by to wish her a "Nice Summer". The door swung inward, admitting a curly haired hipster boy, wearing an ironic scarf.

"Miss Sylvester," he stuck his hand out, straight and assertive, "Jesse St. James. We've only met briefly. My father's connections at Anderson, Anderson, and Andersen have made me privy to the information that you are slated to choreograph The Lima Community Theater's production of-"

"I'm gonna stop you right there, Grease Lightning," Sue said, whipping her glasses off. "Just tell what you want so I can mock or join you."

"Rachel Berry will audition for this play. She will get the female lead. Everything else is up for grabs, and will be heavily dependent on who is in on the casting discussions. I need to keep Fi-"

"Get to the point."

"I want to direct."

"Can't do that. You'll choreograph."

"Acceptable."

"I'll fax you a copy of my contract, bring it to Anderson and tell him you're my official replacement."

"I don't have a fax machine. It's not 1998."

"I like you. Wait here while I make a copy," Sue told him, starting toward her door and stopping just in the frame. "Impress me with this, Greased Lighting, and you might be eligible for The League of Doom, Next Generation."

* * *

><p>Blaine wasn't sure how this had happened to him.<p>

He understood how it had begun. Kurt was out with Mercedes for a coffee date and Blaine was supposed to meet him at the Hummel's house. Blaine had gotten there exactly on time. Carol had invited him in, told him he was handsome and given him a brownie, letting him know that Kurt wasn't back yet, but Puck and Finn were upstairs playing video games if he wanted to wait with them, and that she was going to leave for her shift at the dentist's office soon. She was a receptionist, but only worked a half day on Wednesdays. Blaine had waited a few minutes before he got a text from Kurt, letting him know that something had come up, and he was going to be a little late, but when he got back he wanted to play Blaine a couple drafts from "Pip, Pip, Hurray!"

Blaine had grinned to himself. That meant they were actually going to make out, because despite a lot of outlines and research, Kurt hadn't written a word of "Pip, Pip Hurray!" but was too stubborn to admit it, and apparently thought that Blaine would never figure it out, if he kept pretending that he was going to play him some of the songs, and then suggesting that as long as the house was devoid of parents, they should make out instead.

Blaine was extremely thankful to the entire Middleton family for this.

And all of that was par for the course.

But, bored with waiting for Kurt, he had found himself in Finn's room, breathing in the distinct odor of dirty socks, while Finn tried to teach him to how to kill digital zombies with a controller.

And that was a little unexpected.

Blaine didn't play video games. They had been banned in all forms in his house when he was growing up. Then, about a month after he had come out, an X-box and a bunch of football and shoot 'em up games had appeared in the living room. He had played a couple times, because his father would talk to him while they played, and Thad would play with him occasionally, but Blaine had never gotten into it. Certainly not as into it as Finn was.

But Blaine liked Finn and at least Finn was trying to teach him to play as though he was actually concerned about Blaine being eaten by zombies instead of as though he though getting a gun in his hands would send him mercifully into the breasts of some girl passing by.

The weird part was Puck. Because while Carol had been Carol, and Finn was, while perhaps paying him a little more attention than usual, being Finn, Puck was just staring at him.

Something brown and creepy jumped out of nowhere on the screen and began sucking the life out of Blaine's little avatar. Finn yelled commands at him and Blaine forgot which buttons were which and handed the controller back to Finn when "GAME OVER" flashed damningly on the screen over his little digital corpse.

"I don't think this is my game, Finn."

"Don't worry about it, this part… here at the beginning, this part's hard. I'll get you to an easier level quick."

"That's okay," Blaine shrugged, glancing at Puck, who was still staring at him, out of the corner of his eye. "Kurt's supposed to be home soon, so I'll just go-"

"So, Blaine," Puck finally spoke. "You're gay right?"

Blaine felt the beginnings of that tingly, icy feeling he always got down his back when a conversation started with that. "You're gay right?" never,_ ever_, indicated that anything he wanted to hear was going to follow. Even if it was Puck, who seemed to like him and who occasionally encouraged same-sex cuddling.

"Well, Puck, he's Kurt's boyfriend, if that gives you a clue or anything," Finn answered for him, without even looking up from his zombie killing rampage.

"No I mean… okay, so you're gay and you go to an all boys school."

Blaine sighed. This was Kurt's brother's best friend. This conversation was happening and there was nothing he could do about it now. "Yes. I am gay. Yes. I go to an all boys school."

"And you're like, super into Kurt right?"

"I am very much in love with Kurt," Blaine answered. Finn elbowed him in a weirdly gentle, friendly way. An _approving_ way, that Blaine would have to make sure he mentioned to Kurt later, because while Kurt had forgiven Finn for the incident in the basement last year, he was very _very_ much not over it.

"Okay… so just…" Puck leaned down to look Blaine in the eye, much more intensely than Blaine was comfortable with, "What in the hell did you do when Kurt came back to McKinley and you were just running around Gay Hogwarts missing him like hell with temptation… just freaking everywhere?"

"Is this about Lauren?" Blaine asked.

"It's always about Lauren," Finn sighed.

"Shove it, Hudson, all you ever talk about is Rachel and you haven't even seen her boobs!"

"Okay, guys, even I know that girls hate this sort of thing," Blaine interrupted. He was a little shocked when Puck calmed back down immediately and returned to looking at him with intense interest. "Umm…well," Blaine searched for a way to answer everything that was wrong with Puck's original question. "You do know that there aren't that many out gay kids at Dalton right?"

"Really?" Finn asked.

"Yeah. Other than Kurt it was actually just me and this really shy senior. Just because there's a zero tolerance policy doesn't mean that all that many kids can come out. So it's not really 'Gay Hogwarts'," Blaine said, with a little smirk to himself. At thirteen he would have been willing to spend all of his time sitting on his roof sniping owls out of the sky if he thought there could be such a thing as Gay Hogwarts.

"But a guy wouldn't have to be… an actual option for him to be tempting right? I mean… you looked right?"

Blaine was very aware of Finn pausing the game and looking at him intently. "Umm… no actually," he answered, pretty sure he could be forgiven for omitting 'except one time when Thomas was yelling about something in the locker room and I didn't expect abs like that.' He had looked, but he hadn't _looked._

"See. Now I feel like scum," Puck sighed. "I don't want to look, but I still look, you know? And I know myself. I'm a screw up. All I want is Lauren, but it's a long summer of bikini's and boobs, and girls who are not Lauren. I don't want to end up screwing this up before she gets back."

"Why don't you try to focus on something other than girls?" Blaine suggested. Puck and Finn both snorted.

"Yeah. Easy for you to say, little dude," Puck said, slapping him on the back fraternally.

"Hah hah. Very funny," Blaine sighed. "I'm serious. Why don't you work on your music. Or bone up on your bad ass history?"

"Like John Wayne?"

"Actually, I see you as more of a Kerouac type," Blaine said, shrugging. It fit. It was a little pretentious to pretend he just knew that instead of admitting that it had been the last book they'd had to read in English that year. He hadn't really liked it that much, but the prose was wonderful. Something about it just screamed "Puck".

"I've got it in my bag. I'll lend it to you."

"What's Kerouac?"

"It's a book."

"It's summer," Finn objected.

"They still have books in the summer."

"Anything to get my mind off Lauren," Puck sighed.

"I'll be right back," Blaine told them, jumping up as Finn unpaused the game and went back to killing herds of zombies.

He hit the bottom of the stairs just as Kurt walked inside, flushed from the heat and looking pinkly beautiful in a short sleeved…something, with buttons all around the neck that didn't look like they actually did anything.

"Hey, how is Mercedes?" Blaine asked.

"Secretive and less than subtle,' Kurt sighed, setting his back down melodramatically before kicking off his shoes, smiling at Blaine and stepping forward to kiss him, threading his fingers into their new favorite place, the loose hair at the nape of Blaine's neck.

"Did Carol just leave you alone in the house?"

"Finn and Puck are upstairs playing video games."

"Mmmh," Kurt sighed, managing to convey disinterest, disappointment, and just a little bit of condescension without actual words. Blaine leaned forward to kiss him.

"Hmm, you taste like coffee," Blaine said quietly.

"How occupied do you think Finn and Puck are?" Kurt asked, just a little breathless.

"I thought you were going to show me how far you had gotten on 'Pip Pip Hooray'?" Blaine said, trying hard not to tease and almost succeeding.

"Maybe later," Kurt said, tilting his chin up and across the millimeters between their lips.

"Occupied enough. Finn's killing zombies and I'm going to go give Puck this book."

Kurt pulled back and gave him a look of something a little more like pity than like mocking.

"A book?"

"On the Road. Jack Kerouac. I think a little dissatisfied beat generation angst might be good for him."

"You carry around 'On The Road'?" Kurt demanded.

"School book. Haven't cleaned out my bag for the summer yet and gotten it re-packed with sunscreen and swim trunks and a towel."

"It's cute the way your voice lilts up like that. Like you really think you could convince me to do something involving any of those things."

"I have a pool. My parents go away for the weekend a lot."

Kurt pulled away a little, pursing his lips with a little frown.

"What?"

"Nothing. I just… go give Puck your book. I'll meet you in my room."

Blaine nodded, and hurried up the stairs, wondering where he had lost Kurt. He hadn't been pushing. He knew he hadn't been pushing. He and Kurt had been alone in the house together once since the "Rachel Berry "Deodorant" Train Wreck Extravaganza" and the heat of the day and the fact that Blaine was expected at home to clean up and go to his aunt's house for dinner had put the kibosh on going even just as far as they had last time.

So they had made out and sort of talked about it. They didn't say anything about boundaries or _activities_, they had just mutually agreed to keep the lines of communication open, stay open and honest with each other. To be clear when _time alone _meant anything other than just that. It was enough for now.

He handed the book off to Puck, who saluted him with it, but flipped it over to read the back.

"I got you to an easier part of the level. Do you want to try again?" Finn asked, holding the controller out to Blaine.

"Kurt's home," Blaine shrugged hoping he sounded casual. Puck wolf whistled. Finn hit him in the stomach with a "Dude!"

Puck rolled his eyes at Blaine and Blaine tried to play if off with a quick and less confident than he was hoping for "On that note-" before ducking out of Finn's room.

Kurt arrived in his room moments after Blaine did, carrying two glasses of lemonade and handing one to Blaine before settling himself primly on his bed and glancing up at Blaine. Blaine sat next to him. _Open and honest_, he thought.

"Did I freak you out?"

Kurt looks shocked. "With 'On the Road'?"

"By suggesting you come over and swim while my parents are gone? Cause… you know I'm not angling for-"

"No. I know. I just…"

"What is it?"

"Okay. It's a couple things."

"Okay."

"You don't have to act like the one who is always pushing me into bedroom things. I don't want you and Finn defending my virtue all the time. I'm cautious, I'm not a girl. I'm a teenage boy just like you guys."

"I know that. That's not-"

"I know that's not what you meant. It's okay. Really. Just… for future reference. And umm…" Kurt looks deep into his lemonade glass, as though there are important answers to the universe being spelled out by his ice.

"And umm?" Blaine prompts.

Kurt pulled his gaze up from his glass. "Blaine- do your parents know about me?"

"What?" Blaine asked, genuinely taken aback.

"I know you and your Dad have some problems. It's okay if they don't. I just… I just want to know."

Blaine took a deep drink of his lemonade. "They do know about you. I told them about you when you started at Dalton. Before that I was pretending that I was going to plays and stuff with Thad and Nick because I didn't think they would handle me running all over town with some other gay kid very well. And they know we're dating but I only told them a month ago. They are… they're trying. I'm sorry. I should have told you earlier."

Kurt set his glass down on his night table and settled against Blaine, letting Blaine put his arm around him, which Blaine took as a good sign. Kurt hated to be touched when he was upset.

"Are you mad?" Blaine asked, knowing the answer, but needing to hear it.

"Of course not," Kurt said.

"I've been telling them more about you since Prom," Blaine said. "About your musical and your school and just… you know, about you. I want them to meet you… I just… I want them to _want _to meet you a little bit more."

"That's okay. I don't want to get… shoved in their faces or anything."

"I've got our Prom picture on my desk."

"With the crown and everything?" Kurt asked, squeezing his eyes shut so hard that Blaine could feel Kurt's face moving against his bare arm.

"I think you look beautiful in that picture." Blaine said defensively.

Kurt snorts, putting on his 'changing the subject' voice, "You have no taste."

Blaine took another sip of lemonade, reached across Kurt to set his glass on the nightstand as well, and took Kurt's face in his hand as he settled back against the pillows.

"Of course I do," Blaine smiled, kissing Kurt deeply.

* * *

><p>Rachel was standing in the stacks of the local music store, so buried in her decision between "Green Finch and Linnet Bird" and "My Man" that she was almost not thinking about the promising beginning, eventual heartrending destruction, and oddly second act-ish revival of her relationship with Jesse St. James, which of course at started at the piano not five feet from where she was standing.<p>

While she hated to repeat an audition, "My Man" was a perfect way to showcase exactly the type of vocal range and emotional depth she would need for Maria, and she really had nailed it during her audition for Nationals. And it wasn't as though anyone but Mr. Shue had seen it, and there was nothing wrong with having a repertoire of auditions songs from which to draw. She wasn't in nearly this type of quandary about her monologue choices.

A voice- husky, sexy, and unmistakable- started across the music store, pulling Rachel from her decision.

_In the rain the pavement shines like silver  
>All the lights are misty in the river<br>In the darkness, the trees are full of starlight  
>And all I see is him and me forever and forever<br>_  
>It was jazzier than Rachel would do it. Totally unfitting for a classic like Les Mis, or West Side Story for that matter, but appealing, the different timbre of voice and pacing of the song certainly notice catching.<p>

_And I know it's only in my mind  
>That I'm talking to myself and not to him<br>And although I know that he is blind  
>Still I say, there's a way for us<br>_  
>Rachel emerged from the shelves, alarmed at how many people were already watching the slim, beautiful Latina sitting on the piano, belting her heart out.<p>

_I love him  
>But when the night is over<br>He is gone  
>The river's just a river<br>Without him  
>The world around me changes<em>  
><em>The trees are bare and everywhere<br>The streets are full of strangers_

One or two members of the crowd, young men, Rachel noted, were watching Santana more raptly than anyone had ever watched her, even though her technical precision out classed Santana's sultry style.

_I love him  
>But every day I'm learning<br>All my life  
>I've only been pretending<br>Without me  
>His world will go on turning<br>A world that's full of happiness  
>That I have never known<em>

I love him  
>I love him<br>I love him  
>But only on my own<p>

The crowd clapped, and Santana nodded, less an acknowledgement of their praise than a gesture of letting them know she was bothering to stick around for their attention when she had better things to do.

A figure rose behind her, and Rachel felt her jaw drop open of its own accord as the flush face of the piano player behind Santana was revealed.

And if the shock of that hadn't been enough, Santana turned to Karofsky and said, sickly sweet, "Come on Dave, we've got an audience, sing your audition piece."

Karofsky shook his head and Santana, uncharacteristically, gave up. They took their music and walked out the door, leaving Rachel dumbstruck, desperate to find out if David Karofsky could sing or not.


	8. Did Puck Just Send You A Heart Message?

"I'm just saying," Kurt shrugged, taking a sip of his ice coffee, "I'm not exactly… suited, for West side story."

Blaine sipped his own order, an ice mocha so full of corn syrup Kurt didn't want to think about it too hard, and licked his lips in a distracting way. "Why not?"

"Well, while I do look as though I spent most of my time hanging out in the street and organizing knife fights, I'm not sure that always comes across to other people. And I could absolutely kill "Tonight" but I would be entirely wasted on "Officer Krupke"."

"You'd be incredible on "Something's Coming," Blaine said, looking at him with an expression so similar to the one he had worn just before he changed everything with three words that it sent a little shiver down Kurt's back.

"I'm not sure I have the time to commit to a role like Tony," Kurt told him. "Between working at the garage and Pip Pip Hooray. And I can live a long and happy life having never kissed Rachel Berry," Kurt ended thoughtlessly, blushing for a second when he realized what he had just said.

Blaine's eyes dropped guiltily to the table top for a moment before he rallied with, "Why are we all so convinced that Rachel's such a lock for Maria?"

Kurt raised an eyebrow at him and Blaine nodded in defeat.

"I just hope some Carmel guy doesn't get Tony, it'll be Jesse St-" a vibration from his pocket interrupted him and Kurt pulled his phone out before finishing, "James all over again."

He looked at the text alert on his phone in disbelief for a moment.

"What? Who is it?"

"Umm… it's Puck." Kurt opened the message and frowned even further. "He wants your phone number."

"Give it to him." Blaine shrugged.

"Are you sure about that?" Kurt demanded.

"Yeah. I like Puck. What's the worst he could do?"

"I'm just saying, you might look at limited contact with a man who once stole and ATM and who also started a pool cleaning business just to sleep with people's mothers as a blessing."

"I think I'll survive."

"Okay. It's your funeral." Kurt sighed, sending the number to Puck.

"Here, you should probably give me his number so I know when it's him."

Kurt read off Puck's number while Blaine typed it in. Blaine's phone buzzed as Kurt finished reading and a moment later Kurt's received another message.

_From: Noah Puckerman- 3_

"Blaine?" Kurt asked dubiously. "Did Puck just send you a heart message too?"

"Yeah. He did." Blaine smiled. His phone buzzed again.

"What's that one?"

"It says "This one's for you bro"," Blaine answered, quirking his head to the side and dropping his phone into his bag.

"Whatever this is about isn't going to end well," Kurt declared as his phone buzzed again. "Oh good, now he wants my address." He tucked his phone into his pocket. "And I'm washing my hands of this weirdness."

"So, what do you want to do today? Besides rehearse for auditions?" Blaine asked.

"I don't know. It's beautiful out. You want to go for a walk?"

"Yeah. That would be nice," Blaine agreed. He smirked for a moment, then asked, "How is Pip Pip Hooray coming?"

Kurt cleared his throat and tried very hard not to think about the document on his computer that consisted entirely of the title "Pip Pip Hooray: The Broadway Musical about Pippa Middleton" which he had changed the font of approximately a hundred times before settling on Garamond, with a small picture of Pippa, in her bridesmaid dress underneath it.

"I'm making progress," he answered.

"Maybe you could play something for me?"

Kurt smiled disingenuously, changed his expression to one of exaggerated innocence and shrugged. "Or something."

Making out instead of admitting he was making no progress wasn't going to work forever, but if the way Blaine blushed was any indication, it was still going to work today.

* * *

><p>Quinn gritted her teeth in exasperation when Rachel Berry walked into the music store. She even ducked back between the shelves to hide from her.<p>

Quinn was done. She needed a break from all of the bullshit Glee Club drama for a while. The constant game of relationship roulette had exhausted her, the loss at nationals, and the reason for it, had crushed her, and she needed some time to recuperate.

Which she had taken, for all of three days, before she realized that she wasn't having a peaceful summer. She was having a lonely summer. After the last year she could really only count Mercedes among her friends, and even though if she called Santana they probably could hang out almost amicably…everything was too strained.

She and Mercedes had drifted apart while Quinn had gone off in pursuit of the crown that she had lost (for the sake of hurting Kurt, no less) and Mercedes had responded to the two texts Quinn had sent her so far this summer with "Sorry, today's not good, what's next week look like?" but hadn't provided any information about why that time hadn't been workable, which was suspicious. And Santana had apparently traded easy sex with Brittany for easy sex with Karofsky.

Quinn was still trying to work that one out. Santana and Brittany's tricycle-with-a-wheel-missing-part-time-fooling around was complicated and involved and had been going on too long to even wonder about anymore. It had faded into the scenery as better, fresher scandals had come to the forefront. Pregnancy. Spies from Vocal Adrenaline. Death threats.

But this thing with Karofsky was ridiculous. What was her angle? To hurt Sam? Sam wasn't important enough to Santana for that.

To regain her popularity? Obviously, but then she had sided with Kurt, McKinley's mascot of freakdom, neutered all of Karofsky's potential power, and formed the Bullywhips, a club practically designed to piss off the popular cliques. If popularity had been her goal, she had burned herself in the camp fire.

Quinn jumped as Santana's sultry voice burst out over the store.

_Speak of the Devil_.

Quinn crept further back into the shelves. When Rachel inevitably ran to see Santana singing a song that Rachel thought belonged to her, in true only child fashion, Quinn didn't want to be seen. But the change of angle brought Quinn to a gap in the shelves, where she could see not only Santana singing, but Karofsky at the piano behind her, playing, if not well, at least competently.

He was smiling.

And Santana was smiling at him. And not in her usual predatory way either. Santana finished the song and gave the surrounding crowd a condescending acknowledgement, but when she talked to Karofsky, she seemed… not content… it wasn't happy enough for that, but somehow, more stable than she had been lately. Much more stable than she had been before her crazy Law and Order Prom Queen run.

She encouraged Karofsky to sing too, and actually listened when he refused, blushed shyly and gave her this look. This young, sheepish look that was out of place on the face of McKinley's resident psychopath.

She was getting sucked in again. Quinn shook herself and strode out of the shelves. She did not have time for this. She had come to the music store for sheet music and now she had to go practice. She had seen what the last singer at the country club had made in one night, she had talked the owner into letting her audition. Now she needed to go home, stop thinking about her stupid classmates, and practice.

Her mother, vapid, ridiculous and entirely removed from the real world, as usual, had waited until most of the applications for scholarships had closed to tell Quinn that, since her father had stopped acknowledging that anyone in the family besides Quinn's older sister actually existed, she was on her own for college. The absolutely only helpful thing her mother had been able to do was get Quinn a job at the stupid country club, where she practically lived now, working at the desk most of the day and serving in lounge most of the night, smiling at sleazy men who called her _honey_ and pretending she couldn't see her father drinking scotch in the corner any better than he could see her carrying trays.

She grabbed a couple song books off the shelf with a huff. She was Quinn Fabre. She did not hide from the Glee Club. She strode directly past Rachel on her way to the counter. Rachel didn't even notice, too busy following after Santana and Karofsky. Quinn ignored it. It didn't matter. Whatever weird music thing was going on with the three of them, whatever Rachel was defensive about, whether it was possibly that Santana Lopez and David Karofsky could care about anyone, let alone each other, was not her problem.

Quinn paid for her music and walked out into the parking lot. She dropped into her car and opened the windows to let the baked-in heat escape, pointedly ignoring both Rachel spying (spectacularly obviously) from her little Corolla, and the strong baritone of David Karofsky pouring out of the windows of his Impala.

It wasn't her problem.

Not anymore.

* * *

><p>"You can't sing Purple Haze, you big freak," Santana groaned, shoving at Dave's shoulder.<p>

"What?" Dave demanded, egging her on on purpose. "It's from sort of the right era. It's manly. It's cool. It's something a bunch of street gang delinquents might sing."

"If you're going to throw the audition why do you even want to do this?" Santana laughed.

"That's not what I'm really going to sing."

"What are you really going to sing?"

"Three am. Matchbox 20."

"For West Side Story?" Santana rolled her eyes and repeated herself, "If you're going to throw the audition, why do you even want to do this?"

"_But outside! It must be rai-ai-ai-ning_!" Dave started, "_And she says baby! It's three am I must be lonely, And she says baby-_"

Santana rolled her eyes again, but joined in "_I can't help but be scared I bet oh, sometimes, everything's gonna wash away I believe this!_"

"Have you even seen West Side Story?" Santana asked.

"Are you kidding me? Of course not. I don't watch musicals."

"But you want to be in this one."

Dave glanced around them nervously. Santana nodded, reached over and turned the key in the ignition. Dave rolled up the windows, turned on the radio and started to roll out of the parking lot.

"I liked being in Glee club. I know you get that, Santana. But I can't do it. I might as well just write in on my forehead."

"Like Sam and Finn and Puck and Mike did? You've got the juice to join and hardly get harassed. You might even save the rest of us a slushie or two."

"It's different. Cause it's actually… cause I actually am…what I've called them. It would be a reason to go looking to prove that I am if I did something like this at school. Finn and Sam and the other guys don't have that."

"So? There's no proof."

"Yeah, there is."

"Kurt's not going to rat you out. It's way too late for that. And this far after the fact who would believe him?"

"Look, it would just be one too many things okay? No one but you and that Blaine kid really know what went down with Kurt. And do you really think Azimio and Strando know about my grades? That I nearly aced the SAT? No. And my brother doesn't know that I'm not even going to apply to UNO. I can't tell my parents that I'm trying to move as far away as humanly possible for college. I'm looking at UC San Diego. A couple private schools in Oregon. And I compulsively clear my browser history."

"Wanky."

"It's not even like that."

"I may be a lesbian, but I've spoken to teenage males."

"It's hardly ever like that," Dave amended very quietly. "Anyway. That's just the stuff no one asks me about. I cannot handle the entire football team, and the hockey team, and probably Coach Sylvester walking up to me and asking me-"

"Why did you join homo-explosion, did you come down with a bad case of the gay from being too near Kurt?"

"Can we drop this?"

"No. So why is it gay to be in glee, but not to be in West Side Story, wearing makeup and everything?"

"Do you really think anyone under the age of 80 is coming to this play?" Dave asked. "No one on the team even knows what Community Theater is. They may have accidently stumbled past the theater during summer school, or Driver's Ed, but they probably weren't sure what a big room full of seats was for."

"Rrrow," Santana commented.

"Don't do that."

"Fine."

"I just… I think it'll be fun, okay? I need something that can be relaxing right now. Hardly anyone I know other than you and probably that Rachel chick and maybe Finn are going to be in it. And I can convince Azimio that I need this for college applications, so he won't give me as hard a time about it. Plus it'll get me out of the house and I'm going to blame it on you."

"You're going to blame it on me?"

"Yeah. You're now my music beard. Deal with it."

Santana snorted despite herself.

"Okay. You can blame it on me, on the condition that you watch the movie. Because I am not letting you embarrass me in front of the glee club. Let's go to your house."

"We cannot watch a musical in my house."

"Your TV is bigger than mine and you're blaming this on me as it is."

Dave shrugged his agreement and took a right.

"Wait… if you haven't seen West Side Story how did you know it was about gangs?"

"I googled a synopsis," Dave said. "And then I cleared my browser history."

* * *

><p>Finn's morning had been extremely worrying. He had absolutely massacred a high note while practicing his audition piece. It had been like killing a puppy with a shovel, it was absolutely the worst he had ever sounded. It had been so bad that he had actually stopped practicing for an hour before quietly trying the song out again. Kurt had promised to help him practice later in the afternoon, but he and Blaine's coffee date had apparently turned into taking-advantage-of-no-parent's time. Finn had heard Blaine's car pull up a little before noon, and hadn't even seen Kurt and Blaine come in before they disappeared upstairs. But, as per the secret-brother-code, Kurt had set a pair of sandals he had forbidden Finn to ever wear again next to the front closet. Finn had heard music at first, and then when the music had been off for a while, he had turned on the TV. Just in case.<p>

So Finn was already worried about his audition, and his brotherly responsibility to warn Kurt and Blaine if Burt came home for lunch again, and the fact that Burt seemed to be getting really forgetful lately, and what he might potentially learn about Kurt and Blaine if he did have to go and warn them to stop whatever they were doing (even though that's what the secret knock was for), when he grabbed his phone from where he had forgotten it on the coffee table and found five unread messages from Puck.

They were worrying.

_From: Puck-10:07- Dude, I need you to text me Blaine Warbler's digits. _

_From: Puck- 10:18- Nvm. Got it from Kurt._

_From: Puck- 10:28- Is your address Hillcrest Street or Hillcrest Lane?_

_From: Puck-10:34- Hillcrest Blvd?_

_From: Puck- 11:20 I love you man._

Finn sat down on the couch, found himself only about fifty percent sure that he lived on Hillcrest Avenue, and went outside to check the street sign.

He opened the door to Rachel barreling up the walk.

"Finn! David Karofsky can sing," she announced breathlessly.

* * *

><p>Dave waved Santana into the house and wrapped his arms around himself, the dread of being home already settling in.<p>

"So the movie's on Netflix instant. Do you want me to get you anything before we go hook it all up?" he asked as Santana kicked off her shoes.

"Oh-one of your mom's snazzy lime water things?"

"Sure. Make yourself at home."

"I always do," Santana replied, already heading into the living room.

Dave stopped by the garage on his way to the kitchen, peeking his head in just to make sure that everyone's cars really were gone. His parents were always gone during the day, but it was harder to be sure with his brother, who was only working part time at a sun glass kiosk at the mall.

He went to the kitchen, grabbed a bag of cheesy popcorn and poured out a bowl for him and Santana to share. Then, paranoid again, he ran upstairs to check Mark's room, which was empty, before he ran back downstairs, grabbed Santana's drink and went into the living room, where Santana already had the movie started. She was looking at her phone weirdly.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh… I just got a weird message from Puck," she said, shaking her head and dropping her phone down onto the table.

"What's it say?"

"Apparently he thinks I needed confirmation that I'm beautiful and awesome."

"Was he hitting on you?"

"Would you be jealous?" she grinned. Dave rolled his eyes at her.

"I doubt it. Lauren would rip him in half if he was."

They skipped over the intro when they realized that the whole thing was just music playing over a background, and Dave nearly had a heart attack when he realized the entire gang premise was being set up in fruity ballet.

"Wait- the website said this was about street gangs!"

"Calm yo' tits, alright. No one in Lima can pull this off. They'll cut all this out."

They watched the rest of the movie in comfortable silence. Santana set aside the bowl of popcorn after the dance at the gym, and when Tony climbed Maria's balcony she sighed deeply and dropped against him.

He jumped before he realized that Santana was doing her angry-about-being-sad thing. She elbowed his arm out of her way, hard, and lay back against his body. Dave shifted a little bit before setting his hand at her waist.

He'd never been this close to someone before, and it was weird, especially because it was someone like Santana.

She smelled good. Sort of like flowers and cinnamon and warm laundry. The weight of her on his chest was comforting. He could get into this, probably.

He moved his hand up her hip a little bit, to just under her waist. He'd somehow expected her to feel… more solid. But she was soft and so little, he felt like if he wasn't careful he'd accidentally snap her in half. Santana was the hottest girl in school. Was that supposed to be attractive?

"What do you think you're doing?" Santana demanded.

"Trying to get comfortable." He told her, which was true, his shoulder blades were starting to dig into the couch.

"Well, keep it that way. I'm not going to have my beard start groping me, okay?"

"I'm not groping you… I just… you're so small."

Santana hit the pause button with her foot. "I'm so what?"

"You're…" Dave slipped his thumb underneath her, weirded out by how easily his fingers could be on her stomach and his thumb could be on her back. "I can fit my whole hand around you. It's just odd. How are you so terrifying when you're only this big around?"

"Squeeze my side again, and we will revisit the nut-cracking razor blade discussion, you got me?"

"And there's the terror."

"Damn straight," Santana said, hitting pause again and letting the song start back up.

Dave dropped his hands down onto the couch, basically letting Santana use him as an extension of the arm of the couch for the rest of the movie.

"So… this was just Romeo and Juliet right?" Dave asked as Maria dropped to the ground near Tony's body and the credits started up.

"Huh?"

"Romeo and Juliet. We read it in English. It's just two competing families who don't want their kids together."

"Yeah… or two people who are in love with the wrong person," Santana replied bitterly. Dave stiffened, he hadn't gotten there yet, but she was right.

The front door opened and Dave jumped at the sound. Santana, however, spun in his lap, and quickly and efficiently popped the top button of his shirt open and raked a hand back through his hair, spiking it up. Before Dave even knew what was happening she had pressed her lips to his.

His hands flew off of the couch to Santana's shoulders, and he instinctually pushed her away. She just grabbed his wrist and brought his hand down to her waist. She didn't move her lips at all, keeping them carefully pressed together even as she pushed them into Dave's.

"Oh…hey um… guys," Mark chuckled from the doorway.

Santana pulled back and jumped away from Dave, landing on the other side of the couch in a parody of blushing innocence.

"Sorry… didn't mean to… interrupt." Mark grinned.

"Uhh," Dave managed.

"Dave, aren't you going to introduce us?" Santana demanded in a wildly fake breathless voice, carefully rearranging her completely unmussed hair.

"I'm Mark," his brother waved.

"Santana," she said. She cleared her throat and gave Dave a significant look. "I should probably go. David?"

She stood up, over-straightening her clothes, before shooting Mark an embarrassed look and going directly to the door. After a second to recover from the shock Dave followed her, shuddering when Mark clapped him on the back in congratulations as he passed.

* * *

><p>Mercedes was fixing up her mascara up. Just a little. No reason. Not because her boyfriend was coming over to hang out or anything. Not because she was a little nervous about him coming over to hang out with the house empty.<p>

Well, nervous wasn't really the right word. Sam was a complete gentleman at all times, and the last time things had gotten a little heated in her car, Mercedes had totally initiated it.

And it had been amazing.

Flustered was probably a better word. With just a touch of regret that she hadn't been able to talk to Kurt about what was going on the other day at coffee. Especially because Kurt had whispered the full dish on his and Blaine's progress, turning from red to pink to purple as talked about it, his expression caught somewhere between inexplicably proud of himself and ready to just drop dead from humiliation.

She and Sam hadn't even gotten that far, so it wasn't as though she would have had much to add to her and Kurt's conversation, but still. It would have been nice.

The doorbell rang downstairs and Mercedes saw in the mirror how her face split instantly into a grin, then shook her head at herself for being such a dork.

She hurried downstairs, stopped at the bottom step and took a breath, then opened the door. She could feel her eyes bug out when she saw who it was.

"Hi, Mercedes," Quinn smiled, "Sorry to just drop by, but I was hoping you'd be able to help me out with something?"

"Umm… sure. Anything. What's up?"

Mercedes mostly listened, keeping and ear out for the sound of a car door, while Quinn explained about auditioning at the country club, and about her audition choices, and how she was looking to add just a little edge of "funk" to a couple of her choices.

Mercedes jumped when there was a knock at the door, excused herself and ran. She put her finger to her lips before answering.

"Hey, swe-" Sam started before seeing them and dropping his voice, "What's wrong?"

"Sam?" Quinn called from behind Mercedes. "What are you doing here?"

Sam's mouth dropped open, "Oh… hi, Quinn. I was just…" his arms raised mechanically in front of him. "I was just dropping this off. Mercedes hasn't seen it."

Mercedes turned back to Quinn, with what she hoped was an innocent smile. "And I heard it was good, so-"

Quinn's smile was sad. "Avatar, huh?"

"It's awesome," Sam nodded. "What are you guys doing?"

"Mercedes is helping me with some music stuff," Quinn said.

"Oh. Okay. Awesome. I should… I should let you girls… go and do that then."

"Yeah," Mercedes turned back to Sam trying to convey _I am so sorry. I couldn't turn her out. I'm really disappointed that you can't stay_ all in eyebrows. "But thanks for the movie."

Sam set his hand at her elbow, and dropped it immediately when Mercedes widened her eyes at him.

"Right. Well. Oh, hey-" Sam said, stepping back a little bit, "Did either of you get a weird text from Puck earlier?"

"Yeah, actually." Quinn said.

"Me too," Mercedes chimed in, trying to figure out the best way to position herself so that Sam couldn't accidentally touch her again, which was just counter intuitive at this point.

"Cause he just sent me a heart, and I was hoping that like, his little sister stole his phone or something, cause that's a weird thing for Puck to do."

"It's probably not his sister. I got… sort of an involved personal message."

"What does that mean?" Mercedes ask. "He didn't like, sext you or anything?"

"No, it was sweet. It was… it was… it was just sweet."

"He told me…" Mercedes started, Puck's actual text had been _Everything about you is as beautiful as your voice_, but she wasn't going to say that in front of either Sam or Quinn. "Yeah I got a heart too."

"Okay… well… maybe, I don't know. Maybe Lauren leaving broke his brain. I'll give him a call later. You guys have a good night."

"Night." Mercedes told him, shutting the door on him too fast before turning back to Quinn, who still looked sad.

"He speaks Navi, you know," she said. "He's such a dork."

"He's nice though," Mercedes answered carefully. "I hope things are going better with his family."

"I think they are. I haven't seen much of him lately." Quinn looked absent for a moment. "I can't believe I broke up with him for Finn."

There was a very awkward silence, and Quinn shook her head. "Well… we should practice."

* * *

><p>"So, that was Santana, huh?" Mark chuckled as he and Dave cleared the table after dinner.<p>

"Yeah, that was her," Dave shrugged.

"Well done, Davey, just… well done. That is the hottest freaking girl I have ever seen in my life."

Dave's grin in response was brittle, it made his face hurt. "I know right? She's so hot."

"She fast?" Mark asked his voice edging down into a whisper.

"Fast?"

"Have you done it with her yet?"

Dave nearly dropped the plate he was holding. "Uh… no. We haven't really been dating that long."

"Uhh… you said you'd been dating her since before prom right?"

"Yeah, but Prom was in May. That's not even two months."

"Davey, two months with a girl that hot is an eternity," Mark said, rolling his eyes and shoving the dishwasher closed with his foot.

"Look, Santana's cool okay? I don't want to screw this up," Dave told him, the headache he had started getting during dinner when his mother had asked him about his day was beginning to pound.

"Okay, fine, so you aren't doing the deed. What do you do?"

"We hang out, Mark. Like today we just… drove around, came here, watched a movie."

"Yeah… a totally gay movie. You forgot to turn the PS3 off. She made you watch some old-ass musical?"

And now the pounding in his head increased. "Santana likes it, okay? Spanish." He shrugged, wondering in what world that was a real answer to anything.

"Whatever. Just don't get whipped too bad okay? Cause then you'll never-" Mark stopped talking as their mom walked in.

"Are you boys finished with the dishes?" she asked. They both nodded. "Great. Why don't you pull out some ice cream? Your father rented that Batman movie and it might be nice to have a family night. David?"

Dave looked up from where his gaze had settled on the kitchen island. "Yeah?"

"Are you okay, sweetheart? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine," he replied immediately.

His mom gave him a small smile. "Okay… well, you boys get all the bowls out, okay? There's chocolate syrup in the fridge too."

The second she disappeared Mark turned back to him, "Cause if you let her walk all over you, you'll never get laid."

"Okay, Mark. I got it," Dave hissed, sounding way more upset than he thought he was as he grabbed a stack of bowls out of the cupboard.

"Hey- it's okay. I'm just trying to help," Mark says, holding his hands up placatingly, the ice cream bucket in one of them. "Little Davey's finally got a girlfriend. I'm finally getting to break out all the Big Brother advice I've been holding on to for years."

"Look, I can handle Santana, alright? She's… special."

Mark grinned, scooped a huge scoop of ice cream out and dropped it in a bowl. "Awww… you really like her, huh?"

"Yes," Dave responded, just a little too fast.

"Well… good for you, Davey."

Mark shoved the bowl toward Dave and his stomach lurched.

"You… I actually don't feel that great," he said. "I might skip out on the movie."

"Sure man. Whatever," Mark replied, then elbowed him. "Hope it's not mono."

Dave laughed dutifully and escaped up the stairs, dropping down on his bed and hitting the "on" button of his I-pod speakers in one motion.

_How can I be the only one_

_Without a smile on my face_

He really had been on a Matchbox 20 kick lately.

_Well now, you're laughing out loud_

_At just the thought of being alive_

_And I was wondering_

_Could I just be you tonight?_

Santana was probably right about 3 AM being a bad choice. But there was probably another song he could sing. Not this one, not in front of people. But something.

_You show your pain like it really hurts  
>And I can't even start to feel mine<br>Well, I'm standing in place  
>With my head first and I shake, I shake<br>I see your progress stretched out for miles and miles_

But… maybe he was wrong. Maybe he couldn't just do the play thing and make it seem innocent. Maybe everyone really would suspect. Mark was going to call him a fag like every day. Well… if he did at least he could count on Santana to pretend she was having sex with him. He started to sing along, almost absentmindedly.

You're laughing out loud  
>At just the thought of being alive, yeah<br>And I was wondering  
>Could I just be you tonight<p>

He was so tired. And just… he didn't even want to think about having sex with Santana. She was great and everything, but… the idea of… it was just gross. When she'd kissed him… it was just… it felt _completely_ wrong. How light she was in his lap, the way she'd shoved his hand into the curve of her body, her big, soft, just a little bit sticky lips against his… it was awful.

_This is the sound that I make  
>These are the words I chose<em>

It was his first kiss too.

_Somehow the right thing to say  
>Just won't come out<br>Just won't come out  
><em>

So now he understood what he had really done to Kurt. Kurt hadn't wanted any part of his sweaty, balding, ham hock kiss anymore than Dave had wanted Santana's cherry lip gloss, boobs against his chest kiss.

_And you're laughing out loud  
>At the thought of being alive<br>And I was wondering  
>Could I just be you tonight<br>_

And to top it all off, Santana had told him that Kurt had apparently made out with Brittany last year. So... actually, Dave's complete repulsion at kissing someone as overwhelmingly female as Santana meant he was actually gayer than Kurt _freaking_ Hummel.

_And I was wondering_

Kurt _freaking_ Hummel, with his super supportive father, who wanted to kill Dave.

Kurt _freaking_ Hummel, with his cute, if miniature boyfriend.

Kurt _freaking_ Hummel with his whole glee club of friends.

_Could I just be you tonight_

* * *

><p>Author's Note: So... in a thing that is awesome, I just got a contract to publish a novella with an e-publisher. Yay!<p> 


	9. Big Gay Bubble Wrap

It had taken a lot less convincing than Finn had thought it would to get Kurt and Blaine to go out with him and Rachel before auditions, which was awesome, because Finn needed this.

Rachel and Blaine apparently prepared for auditions the same way- which was to just practice over and over and over, until their songs stopped sounding like they had words anymore. That was how Rachel dealt with nerves and stress too- she practiced. Finn assumed that Blaine did the same thing.

Kurt needed to do something with his hands. He sewed stuff, or he worked on _very carefully_ cutting out and arranging a couple of books full of pictures of clothes that he used for something, Finn didn't really understand what. When he was really upset he cleaned. That time that Blaine had gone out with Rachel, Finn had been worried that Kurt was going to scrub a hole right through the bathroom counter.

Finn needed to eat. So when he just couldn't handle singing his audition song, (If Ever I Would Leave You, from Camelot, which Rachel had picked out), one more time, he went upstairs to see if Kurt and Blaine wanted to go to Breadstix.

Finn approached carefully. Burt and his Mom were downstairs, so Kurt's door was wide open, but Blaine wasn't singing anymore, and, more than once, Finn had walked past Kurt and Blaine's door and seen them making out.

He stopped just outside of Kurt's room, carefully evaluating the silence for tell tale signs like lip smacking or heavy breathing, but there was nothing.

"I don't want to read it," Blaine said. "It's too hard after…" Blaine trailed off and Kurt sighed, his sad, tired sigh.

"California?" Kurt replied. "Yeah… I don't want to read it either."

"Do you feel kind of irresponsible for not even checking in?"

"I watched a couple of the videos," Kurt said. "Those are kind of nice. But… as much as I love having the validity of my existence debated while people compare me to a host of unpleasant things in order to deny that I'm even human… I don't want to follow it too closely."

"As New York goes, so goes the nation," Blaine said quietly, or at least Finn thought that's what he'd said, because that didn't make a lot of sense.

"They said that about California too," Kurt said.

"That doesn't help"

"I know."

Finn heard his computer click shut and ducked his head in the door.

Kurt and Blaine were sitting together on Kurt's bed, Blaine's head resting on Kurt's shoulder, Kurt picking absently at his sleeves, as though he was pretending to make sure his cuffs were buttoned. They looked tired, but both snapped up when Finn cleared his throat.

"Hey, guys. You wanna get dinner before auditions?"

Blaine shot Kurt a look Finn couldn't interpret, Kurt nodded and they both got up. Finn smiled at them uncomfortably, able to feel the tension in the air, but unable to figure out what might have been causing it. He noticed Blaine brush his knuckles against Kurt's and Kurt tug his hand away. Finn worried that was because of him, and quickly turned away.

Kurt grabbed his keys out of the bowl on the kitchen counter, and they all piled into the Navigator.

"Breadstix is far enough away for at least two of us to practice again," Rachel said.

"No," Kurt replied immediately, grabbing the dial on the radio and turning up the station a little further. "Blaine, I love you, but if I have to hear "I'll Make a Man Out Of You" one more time, I will break up with you. Rachel… same for you."

"You'll break up with me?" Rachel challenged.

"No, but I'll make you walk."

"Well, someone's cranky when they're nervous."

Kurt and Blaine exchanged a look, but neither replied. Blaine reached over and turned the radio up just a little bit further.

Finn didn't realize that it was a double date until they sat down. Kurt went to the restroom, and Blaine told the waitress that he would have two glasses of water, one with a lemon slice. When the waitress returned, Blaine set the lemon slice water in front of Kurt's seat. And suddenly: BAM. Double date.

The longer dinner went on the more Finn realized how much better a boyfriend Blaine was than he was and the more inferior he felt.

When Kurt nervously tore up and folded his entire napkin before their food even came, Blaine just slid his untouched napkin over to him.

When their food came, Blaine's chicken and Kurt's salad, they each swapped half of their order onto the other's plate.

Blaine ate politely, never talked with his mouth full, and he and Kurt and Rachel carried on an involved conversation about West Side Story, its similarities to Romeo and Juliet, and whether or not its political themes were still really all that relevant, especially in Ohio.

They all laughed a lot.

Finn nodded a lot. Even though Blaine made a point of trying to include him in the conversation, Finn tried to stay out of it. He kind of felt like he was in one of those dreams where you show up to school, have to go to a class you forgot you were even taking, and then you have a pop quiz, and when you have to go ask the teacher for a pencil because you don't have one, you realize you're naked in front of the entire class.

"Mm, what time is it?" Blaine asked, after nodding at a point Rachel was making about the mysterious circumstances of Natalie Wood's death.

"Oh, it's nearly 6:15, we need to go," Kurt answered.

Blaine flagged down the waitress.

"Is this all on separate tabs?" The waitress asked.

"We're on one tab," Blaine told her, waving a finger between him and Kurt and handing her his check card.

"Blaine?" Kurt cleared his throat. "It's my turn."

"Oh… right. Sorry." Blaine grinned at the waitress and pulled his arm back. Kurt handed her his own check card.

"Oh, yeah, we're together too," Finn said waving his own finger between him and Rachel and digging out his wallet. Burt had just paid him for working in the garage, and a niggling thought at the back of his mind "_I wonder if Blaine was like this when he went out with Rachel?_" would not leave him alone. This was the one thing Blaine had done tonight that Finn could copy.

Rachel beamed. Finn mentally patted himself on the back. But then he opened his wallet, and the empty leather stared back at him. He had forgotten the wad of cash that Burt had given him on his dresser.

"Uhh…" he looked up at the waitress, who was giving him a very judging look. "I… I don't have my money with me… I'm sorry… I-"

"You know, don't worry about it," Blaine said. "Here." He handed his card back to the waitress, who spun away.

"Thank you, Blaine, that's very," Rachel did her about-to-be-in-on-the-joke-smile-and-wink at Kurt, "dapper of you."

Kurt's cheeks went just a little pink, the same way they did when Burt tried to have a conversation with him about Blaine. Blaine just shrugged.

"Thanks, man. I'll totally pay you back," Finn told him. Blaine waved his hand and looked embarrassed.

"It's fine."

"Blaine," Kurt whispered quietly.

"Okay. Yeah. We're all going back to your house after auditions. Just grab the cash then. No problem."

"Thank you, Blaine," Rachel said again.

Finn mumbled another thank you and tried to cover for the humiliation by going out of his way to hold every door open for Rachel between Breadstix and the theater. The way Blaine had for Kurt and Rachel on the way in.

* * *

><p><em>Hey man<br>I don't wanna hear about love no more  
>I don't wanna talk about how I feel<br>I don't really wanna be me, no more_

Dress down, now I look a little too  
>Boy next door<br>Maybe I should try to find a downtown whore  
>That'll make me look hardcore<br>I need you to tell me what to stand for

I've been looking for something  
>Something I've never seen<br>We're all looking for something  
>Something to be<p>

Blaine was trying to think of a word to describe how he felt about this whole audition besides "horrified", but absolutely nothing was coming to mind.

First there had been Jesse St. James striding in like he was modeling his vest and unbuttoned shirt down the hallway. Which Blaine was a little ashamed to admit would have been totally hot, if he had never spoken to Jesse before. Then there had been Finn and Jesse nearly getting into a shoving match that had gotten broken up, perhaps out of force of newly formed habit, by Dave Karofsky and Santana's sudden appearance in the auditorium. Then there had been the revelation that Jesse was choreographing and Rachel's little speech imploring him to be impartial. Blaine was pretty sure he had been able to _hear_ Kurt's eyes roll at that.

And now there was this. Dave Karofsky auditioning.

_Hey man  
>Play another one of those heartbreak songs<br>Tell another story how things go wrong  
>And they never get back<br>My pain is a platinum stack  
>Take that shit back<br>You don't wanna be me when it all goes wrong  
>You don't wanna see me with the houselights on<br>I'm a little too headstrong  
>Stand tall<br>I don't wanna get walked on_

With a song that might've made Blaine feel bad for him. If it weren't for too many things to list, and the realization that Dave was actually good, _really good_, and had a solid shot at getting in.

I can't stand what I'm starting to be  
>I can't stand the people that I'm starting to need<br>There's so much now  
>That can go wrong<br>And I don't need nobody  
>Trying to help it along<p>

"Kurt?" Blaine whispered, and Kurt shushed him, his eyes wide and locked on Dave Karofsky.

_It's the same old song  
>Everybody says you've been away too long<br>Everybody wanna tell you what went wrong  
>Wanna make you like an icon<br>Till you believe that they're right_

Blaine looked to his other side, where Finn was glaring at Karofsky as though convinced he could make the guy burst into flames if he concentrated. _That'd be easier than he thinks_, Blaine snarked unkindly to himself, and then felt sort of bad about it. Behind him, Mercedes leaned forward, put one hand on Blaine's shoulder and the other on Kurt's.

Karofsky finished his song, Mercedes tugged at their shoulders and Kurt and Blaine turned back toward her. Finn, on Blaine's other side, and Rachel, on Kurt's other side, turned as well.

"Everyone stop it. It's fine."

"Kurt," Rachel started.

"Just stop okay? We're not having this discussion here, and we're not having it for the thousandth time. Everyone just stop it already," Kurt snapped before spinning back in his chair. Blaine caught Finn giving Kurt a strange look, but he turned.

Jesse stood up and clapped. The director followed suit immediately and Blaine's heart sunk.

Karofsky had a good chance of getting in. And the only thing Blaine hated more than the idea of he and Kurt having to do this with Karofsky around was the thought that he might not get in, or Finn might not get in, and that Kurt and Karofsky would be just be in the play together.

Because Blaine didn't think that Karofsky's little changes of heart would hold up to much pressure. It was too easy to imagine something happening. Someone finding out about the play. Someone tossing out one of those choice epithets that sounded so different when Karofsky heard them rather than said them. And it was too easy to imagine Karofsky's reaction getting out of hand. Getting dangerous. Getting directed at his favorite target.

And Kurt was too good to think that.

"All right!" Jesse said, "If I read your name I want you to stay, if I don't, I want you to leave. We'll email everyone tonight with a cast list."

"Everyone did a great job," the actual director interjected. "And just so you know, if you're name isn't called it doesn't mean you aren't in-"

"But it does mean that you're not good enough to be a lead," Jesse added.

The director sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "So everyone just make sure to check your email in the morning."

"Rachel Berry," Jesse called, giving Rachel the sleaziest grin that Blaine had ever seen. Rachel hopped up immediately and went to stand by the stairs that lead up to the stage. "Santana Lopez." Santana remained seated. "Dave Karofsky. Blaine Anderson."

Finn crossed his arms as Jesse continued reading off a few names of kids that didn't go to McKinley. Blaine patted him on the back sympathetically. It was pretty obvious that Jesse having any power at all automatically excluded Finn from the show. And it was just as obvious that if Rachel got Maria, she wouldn't see it that way.

"And Kurt Hummel."

Kurt straightened up next to Blaine in surprise while Finn turned his dagger stare to Jesse before launching himself out of his chair and stomping out.

"I got him," Mercedes sighed, "Good luck, you guys. I'll wait for you."

Kurt wrapped his arms around himself for a moment, before dropping them straight down to his sides and marching up to where Rachel was standing. Blaine followed him. As soon as Kurt reached Rachel she smiled, spun and walked up the stairs onto the stage. Santana slithered her way up and Dave followed behind her, gripping his hands together as though trying to wrench them both off.

"Okay," the director smiled, shooting a sidelong look at Jesse, "We're just going to run through some dialogue and a couple songs okay? Just to get an idea of what everyone can do okay? Jesse will hand out all the scenes to everyone, everyone will have 20 minutes to practice a couple times, and we'll come back together."

"Rachel, you and Santana. Maria and Anita in the dress shop," Jesse announced, holding out a stack of Xeroxed papers that Rachel came up to grab. "And then after this Rachel, you'll do Tony and Maria's balcony scene." He handed her two more papers.

"With whom?" Rachel asked.

Jesse jabbed his pencil in Blaine's direction, "With Blaine."

Blaine perked up a little, he hadn't expected a shot at the male lead, but deflated at the raised eye brow Kurt was giving him. Right. This was all about Rachel. If he was Tony it was less about talent and more about being big gay bubble wrap for Rachel so that Finn or some other guy wouldn't be kissing her. Then Blaine remembered that Jesse might not know he was gay and perked up again.

"Brett and Eric" Jesse stabbed his pen in the direction a couple of the guys from Carmel. "You, Dave and Kurt are all going to put together officer Krupke, everybody do a verse, Dave, I want to hear you as Riff, and Kurt, I'm interested to see if you're even capable of toning it down a little."

Blaine froze next to Kurt. Kurt put a hand on his hip and arched up an eyebrow. "Toning what down, exactly?"

"I think everyone who's ever come within fifty feet of you knows what I'm talking about. You're in a gang, not on a float. Make me believe it." Jesse finished, "And Bl-"

"Hey- don't talk to him like that," Blaine barked. His voice echoed weirdly in the auditorium for a moment, before he realized that it wasn't an echo. Karofsky had taken a step forward and barked the exact same thing.

"You know, Jesse, maybe someone in a five hundred dollar Burberry scarf shouldn't be throwing stones," Kurt said, every syllable dripping boredom and disdain, "Well… thirty dollars. I can tell from here it's a knock off."

Jesse glared at Kurt, adjusted the item in question with an air of someone pulling off a glove he intended to slap someone with, and turned to Dave.

"And Dave after that you and Blaine are going to read Tony and Riff's scene in the Soda shop,"

"Twenty minutes everyone, we're looking for personality not perfection," the director said.

"But perfection is important," Jesse added.

"Twenty minutes," the director sighed, throwing himself back in his chair.

* * *

><p>Finn reined in his desire to punch his fist into a locker, but just barely.<p>

Jesse.

What did Rachel even see in him? He was such a jerk! Totally enough of a jerk to keep Finn from getting into the play so he could try to steal Rachel away. That's just what Finn needed right now, when Rachel was already planning to leave him, and already looking for ways to do better than him.

How could Rachel possibly think Jesse was better than him?

"Finn?" Mercedes called from behind him. "You okay?"

"Me? Yeah. Totally. Jesse's trying to steal my girlfriend. Kurt, Blaine, Rachel and I went out to dinner and Rachel spent most of dinner practically drooling over Blaine, because he's polite, and rich, and a better boyfriend than me. She's already planning to move to New York after graduation, because she gonna be a star and I can't even get into a community show theater show. Oh, when Burt's find's out that Kurt and Blaine got into a show with Karofsky and I'm not in it to watch out for them, after what when down with Sam? He's going to kill me. _Kill Me_."

Mercedes holds up a hand, then lowered it. "Okay, we're going to start at the beginning of this mess. One, you aren't necessarily out of the show, even if you're not a lead. Two, Karofsky's not necessarily in. Three, Burt'll probably settle for you being on crew or something, and we will all watch out for Kurt and Blaine. Four, do I even have to go over all of the reasons that you don't have to worry about Blaine going after your girl?"

"You didn't mention Jesse," Finn said.

"Well, that's because you're right about Jesse," Mercedes shrugged.

"And Blaine being a better boyfriend than me?"

"If the guy we're all hoping winds up your brother in law gives you something to aspire to, then I say hallelujah," Mercedes told him before heading for the lockers. Finn followed her and they both sank down, legs hanging out into the hallway.

"I just wish that he'd never gone out with Rachel," Finn groaned.

"Blaine or Jesse?"

"Either." Finn shrugged.

"Normally I'd go into how you need to realize that she doesn't belong to you and you can't treat her like she'll always be around and single and willing to take you back, but I think you're finally starting to get that. And everyone wishes that Rachel hadn't gone out with Jesse or Blaine."

"Yeah, actually I have figured out that Rachel's not going to be around, because all she ever talks about these days is how she and Kurt and Blaine and probably you and Santana and even Puck by the end of next year, everyone but me, is gonna be a star in New York."

"Wait… is Rachel just being Rachel, or are Kurt and Blaine actually going to go?"

"They were going through apartment sites the other day, trying to figure out the midway point between Columbia and FIT. Did he… have you guys not talked about that?"

"No," Mercedes said. "They're planning this with Rachel?"

Finn felt the sudden change in temperature around him and quickly changed the subject. "Has anyone actually heard from Puck?"

"Yeah," Mercedes said, sounding a little blank. "You know. We get together every Thursday to braid each other's hair and talk about Sammy Davis Junior."

"I'm serious. I'm worried about him. He hasn't answered his phone or any texts for days. During his little text-love thing, he told Rachel she was his favorite Jewish princess and that he totally believed she'd be a star."

Mercedes' eyes went huge for a second and her mouth dropped open.

"What?" Finn asked. "What did he tell you?"

"Kind of the same thing. You don't think he… did something, do you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't… I didn't think when I got it, because… because it's Puck… and sometimes he does random weirdness like this. But these all sort of sound like…goodbyes."

"Goodbyes?"

"Puck's gotten in a lot of trouble. And he doesn't have a stable home life."

"You think he ran away from home?" Finn demanded. Mercedes huffs out a breath that sounds relieved.

"Yes. Actually, yeah, that makes way more sense than mine."

"What was yours?" Finn demands.

"Never mind. Just… go call him."

Finn had a sneaking suspicion about what Mercedes had thought happened too Puck, and couldn't even imagine Puck doing that. No way. "Ran away from home" was a solid guess. But now he was scared. He jolted up and headed for the door, already dialing Puck's number. It went to voicemail.

"Noah Puckerman will be unavailable this summer as he is in the middle of some serious epic shit. Leave a message, and he'll try to get back to you, but he makes no promises."

Well that wasn't reassuring.

"Dude! Call someone and tell them that you're okay. Mercedes thinks you killed yourself. We're all worried about you."

"Whoa," a voice said behind Finn, he spun around to see Sam in his pizza place uniform. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Trying to track down Puck. Did you get a weird message from him?"

"Yeah. Everybody did. I think everybody got a heart I guess. Except for Quinn, who got this like epic letter or something. And apparently Blaine's was "This is for you". Is he okay?"

"I don't know. But if you hear anything, just let me know."

"For sure, man," Sam nodded.

"What are you doing here? Auditions are almost over."

Sam bit his lip. "Yeah. I know. I'm just… I was in the neighborhood, and I was just gonna give Mercedes a ride home."

Finn thought that was weird for a second, usually Mercedes would get a ride with Kurt. Or drive herself. But now he'd gone from being focused on whether or not Puck was okay to being focused on the fact that Puck had sent Quinn an epic letter. He and Quinn weren't together, but being reminded of the time that Quinn had cheated on him was not really what he wanted to be thinking about when Jesse St. James was clearly using an entire play to seduce Rachel away from him.

Finn went back inside. There was an awkward moment and the front door where he and Sam both tried to hold the door open for Mercedes and Sam got kind of weird about it.

Finn had given up on the door and returned to his previous spot by the lockers in the now empty hallway. Then he waited for everyone who actually had a shot to come back out.

Rachel bounded out first, Blaine and Kurt with her. Her hand was clamped tightly around Blaine's wrist, and Finn felt another uncomfortable flash of jealousy despite the way Blaine was trying to gently tug his hand away and was inching his other hand toward Kurt's. Kurt grabbed it pointedly and Rachel finally let go.

Finn rushed over. "Hey, guys. How'd it go?"

"It was fantastic!" Rachel replied. "I've got Maria in the bag, and Blaine-"

"Let's not jinx it," Blaine said, pulling away from the door as Santana came through the door, Karofsky behind her. Finn saw her take in Kurt and Blaine's clasped hands and grab Karofsky's in her own.

"Santana, great job," Rachel beamed. Finn waited for the part where she killed the compliment, but she just let her smile drop off and looked at Karofsky. "David."

It was adorable how harsh she thought that was.

Karofsky shuffled his feet, moving just a fraction of an inch behind Santana.

"Well, you kids have a nice night," Santana huffed. As she tugged Karofsky behind her, Finn saw Karofsky shoot Kurt a sad sort of look. And to Finn's total shock Kurt returned it with his "Proud that you suck less than I thought you did" smile. Blaine must have noticed it too, because he started swinging his and Kurt's clasped hands between the two of them.

Finn was almost glad that he wasn't in the play if it was already making everyone crazy.

* * *

><p>"So… does Jesse have a problem with gay people, or is he just that much of a douche all the time?"<p>

"He's just a douche," Kurt said, bending to untie his shoes and placing them next to Blaine's. Don't worry about Jesse. This is a guy who couldn't get hired at Johnny Rockets and majored in Judging for Reality TV. Or would have, if he hadn't gotten kicked out of UCLA for failing to go to class."

"What he said was out of line."

"Blaine- I don't care what Jesse says. At all. And even if I did… so what? I come off as gay. I am gay. I like that about myself. I'm fine." Kurt managed to be firm, but not snappish as he unlaced his shoes.

"Is your Dad home?" Blaine asked as he kicked his shoes off in Kurt's foyer.

"No. He and Carol went out to a baseball game," Kurt answered. "He said he'd be home at 11:00. So… probably they'll probably only be out until 10:30."

Blaine smiled. "Right."

Kurt knew his father was not a subtle man. It only taken Kurt two days to figure out that when his dad said "11:00" he really meant "10:30" and when he said, "I'll be at work all day" he meant "except for when I forget to bring my lunch on purpose so I can stop home in the middle of the day and scare your boyfriend off before he gets fresh."

It was a little insulting. He didn't need his father defending his maidenly virtue from Blaine, and it was completely heterosexist of everyone to assume that that was the situation. Kurt might be the shy and hesitant one, but it hadn't escaped his notice that he and Blaine almost never made out with Blaine on top of him, and usually when they did, it was just to take a quick break because Kurt's arms were sore. That didn't necessarily extend to anything else they might do, and they weren't ready for that conversation yet, but Kurt felt the point still stood.

He was just so sick of everyone trying to protect him. Especially from David. Every time Mercedes or Finn glared at him or Puck insulted him or Rachel… Racheled at him, it made it that much harder for David to come out. And that was the one thing that would make Kurt feel safer. If David and Santana came out. That's what he missed most about Dalton. Even more than no one caring that he was gay, he missed not being the only one.

Warm arms wrapped around his stomach and lips pressed just under his ear.

"Hey," Blaine said quietly. "You sure you're alright? You're a million miles away."

Kurt considered telling Blaine what he was thinking about, but decided against it. He was especially sick of Blaine protecting him from David. He understood where Blaine was coming from, what with the whole Sadie Hawkins thing and because Blaine had admitted after the whole shoving match in the hallway thing that after finding out about the death threat he just couldn't handle trying to help Dave. But Kurt couldn't help wanting a little more support from Blaine.

Also, Kurt and his maidenly virtue didn't want to waste a solid two hours of an empty house. He leaned back against Blaine.

"I'm back now."

"With me."

"Yeah."

Kurt leaned back further, letting Blaine take more of his weight. God, he loved having a boyfriend. Even if that boyfriend was a huge dork who was awkward about his money, and sang Disney songs for hours on end, and had only just found a hair style that didn't require industrial amounts of product.

Blaine nuzzled into Kurt's neck, the faint beginnings of his stubble prickling interestingly into the sensitive skin there. He squeezed Kurt around his waist and ran a hand a little ways up his stomach and back down, then stopped.

"10:30?" Blaine asked.

"Couple hours," Kurt replied.

Blaine was a little weird about trying to initiate anything when the house was empty. With the door open he was cuddly and affectionate, with the signal shoes set out and Finn on guard downstairs he was cautiously handsy, but when it was just the two of them he got meticulous about making sure that everything was okay and never asked for anything.

And considering what had happened last time, it wasn't surprising. It wasn't that Kurt didn't think about letting Blaine touch him. When he was alone the thought of Blaine's hands on his cock made his stomach hot and tight until just thinking about it wasn't enough anymore. The last time they'd been upstairs, Finn downstairs with the TV turned up just a little too loud, Kurt had wanted it, psyched himself up for it. He'd pulled Blaine's hands down from his shoulders, over his back, over his ass, nearly down to his knees, and when Blaine had slid his hands down over Kurt's waist and tried to tuck one hand in between their bodies that hot twist in his stomach had turned to panic and he'd shoved Blaine away.

Blaine had apologized endlessly, Kurt had insisted it was fine, Blaine had gotten upset when Kurt apologized, and they had ended up going downstairs for a snack.

After that he couldn't really blame Blaine for being careful. Sweet.

Protective.

"Let's go upstairs," Kurt said.

"Okay," Blaine said, pressing another chaste kiss to Kurt's neck.

"When did Jesse say the casting email was coming out?" Blaine asked as he tentatively shut the door.

Kurt shrugged. "You could check it now. It's pretty clear that Jesse had cast the whole show by the time he was handing out dialogue. And I don't think the actual director is going to have much of a say."

"Ugh. He's the worst. Rachel really dated him?"

"Uh-huh. She really went to prom with him, even though he really dumped her by really having Vocal Adrenaline egg her en masse."

"No wonder she tries so hard to keep me on her list of exes." Blaine shook his head. "Incompatible Sexuality guy is way better than Made Me Into An Omlette Guy." Blaine leaned forward and kissed Kurt lightly.

Kurt considered saying something waspish about not talking about Rachel while they kissed, but let it go. Blaine had a point. Rachel must have been aware of her terrible dating record. If she wanted one date with Blaine to be a bright spot on that record, then fine. The coffin was nailed shut and buried on their sad little competition for Finn, and Blaine was Kurt's. Blaine was handsome and charming and talented and in love with him.

Kurt deepened the kiss and Blaine's hand came up to cup his heading, guiding him onto his back. They parted and scooted up on the bed before Kurt twisted onto his side and pressed close to Blaine. He set his hand over Blaine's arm and his elbow at Blaine's waist.

Blaine pulled back for a moment and readjusted the pillow under their heads. Kurt laughed and nuzzled down into it.

"I love you," he told Blaine quietly.

Blaine smiled softly back at him for a moment before it started to fade in a way that made cold stab through Kurt's stomach.

"What's wrong?"

"I um… I want to ask you something."

"Okay," Kurt replied cautiously.

"Remember… when you…"

Kurt had a very clear vision of him shoving Blaine's hand away from his crotch. He flushed, but nodded. Blaine cleared his throat and moved the arm that he has pinned under his head and the pillow so that he can tangle his fingers with Kurt's.

"Remember when you asked if my parents knew about you?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember how I said that I wanted them to want to meet you a little more?"

"Do your parent's want to meet me?"

Blaine ran his thumb over Kurt's knuckles. "No. I'm pretty sure they don't." He wiggled a little way closer. "But I want them to meet you."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. I love you, and you're important to me and I guess… I think if they just meet you and you become more than just a concept, like a peripheral factoid they could ignore, they wouldn't be so freaked out about…"

"About what?"

"I don't know. Everything. Me being gay. You existing. Us being together."

"Oh."

"You can say no," Blaine muttered. "I'd rather eat over here anyway."

"Hey," Kurt wraps his arm around Blaine's shoulders. "Of course I'll have dinner with your family."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Kurt said, able to feel the muscles in Blaine's back release under his hand. "I've never been to your house."

"I'd love to hear what you think of it. My mom has it professionally re-decorated every four years and they just finished the new design."

"Your mom has the house professionally decorated?" Kurt asked dumbly, having one of those uncomfortable moments when he tried to figure out just how much money Blaine's family actually had.

"Yeah. Everything's blue and white and really modern this time. It's like living in an Ikea. In space."

Kurt snorts. "So when do you want me to come over?"

"I think this'll go better if it's sort of formally arranged," Blaine said carefully. "How's Tuesday?"

Kurt almost balked. It was Thursday night now. How did Blaine expect him to put together an outfit for something as important as this by Tuesday? But Blaine was biting his lip nervously and digging his thumb down between Kurt's knuckles.

"Okay. Tuesday."

Blaine smiled, a grim, determined smile, like Kurt had agreed to go off to war with him instead of just dinner, and rolled into Kurt's chest, so that Kurt was just hugging him.

"I love you, too," Blaine whispered.

The way the warm dampness of his breath sank through Kurt's clothes made Kurt shiver, but then there was a knock at the door.

"You boys know the rules," his dad said outside, "I'm counting to five. One,"

"You can just open it!" Kurt hollered back. Blaine pulled back and rolled up to a sitting position as the door opened.

His dad peered at them, as though looking for wrongly buttoned clothes or swapped pants. Kurt looked back a little haughtily. _Eleven o'clock my porcelain ass, _he thought.

"How'd the audition go?" his dad asked. His face was a little withdrawn, the way it sometimes got when he accidentally walked in on Kurt doing something a little _gayer_ than anticipated. Recording single ladies with back up dancers. Sewing a Lady Gaga outfit. Finding Blaine in his bed.

Never disapproving, and always less surprised than the previous time. Just withdrawn.

"It was fine, Mr. Hummel," Blaine replied. "We both made the second round."

"And that's good yeah?"

"Yes," Kurt said. "That's good."

"How did Rachel and Finn do?"

Kurt laughed cynically. "Jesse St. James is using his position as Choreographer to slide into Assistant Director. He ran auditions. Rachel's going to get the lead and Finn's not even going to be allowed to sell cookies at intermission."

"Jesse St. James? The kid Finn got into a fight with at Prom?"

"And Rachel's ex who was dating her in order to spy for Vocal Adrenaline slash get her to figure out that the coach of Vocal Adrenaline was her mother, so that Rachel would try to reconnect with her."

His dad nodded along, but his eyes got progressively more glazed over.

"You know, when I was your age we just played sports and watched TV."

"There weren't any girls on the sports teams." Kurt shrugged. Blaine laughed.

"Where are Rachel and Finn?"

"Rachel's house."

"Okay. Carol and I were going to put in a movie. You boys should come down."

Kurt arched an eyebrow and his father's complete lack of subtlety, which his dad expertly ignored.

"Actually, I should probably head home," Blaine said, sliding off Kurt's bed. "But umm… call me when you get the cast email… and Tuesday."

"I'll walk you out," Kurt sighed, making sure his dad knew it was an annoyed sigh. Directed at him.

Downstairs he gave Blaine a longer than usual goodbye kiss to make up for the both the fact that their time had gotten cut short and because he could tell Blaine was afraid to go home and try to arrange a "formal meeting the boyfriend dinner."

" I love you," Blaine whispered, over the sound of Kurt's dad monkeying with the DVD player.

"I love you too."

"Tuesday?"

"Tuesday."


	10. A Hundred Shades of Blue

"Okay, was it just me or was the other night with Quinn the most awkward thing, like ever?" Sam asked, holding open Mercedes' front door for her.

"Nah, it's not just you," she replied.

"Did she say anything?" Sam asked.

"She um…" Mercedes sat down and fiddled with her shoe laces.

"She what?"

"She said she never should have broken up with you," Mercedes admitted.

"Hmm," Sam offered.

"She seemed really sad."

"Yeah… she did." Sam agreed, sitting down next to Mercedes and untying his own shoes. "I think things are a little tough with her family right now. I know she was fighting with her mom."

"Oh," Mercedes sighed. She had never thought that she would be the jealous type, and she would never admit it to Sam, but she absolutely hated that Sam and Quinn were still sort of friends.

Sam's head shot up. "Hey, what did I say?"

"What?"

"You sound… sort of pissed. What did I do?"

"It's nothing."

"Was I supposed to go into a long spiel about how I'd never go back to Quinn?" Sam asked, with just a touch of a smile. "Cause I don't have one rehearsed or anything, but I could probably just start the list of reasons I wouldn't."

Mercedes chuckled. "It's okay. I'm fine. I don't need to hear it."

"Cause I have one, but since you guys are friends-"

"It's okay. I'm just being ridiculous. I'm just nervous how auditions went. I didn't get held back."

Sam grabbed her hand from her shoe and pulled it up between them.

"I like you when you're being ridiculous," he said. "And I didn't say anything against Quinn because I know you're friends and because even though I shouldn't have dated her, I think she's still a good person… mostly."

Mercedes smiled at him, her smile splitting even wider when he brought their twined hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles briefly.

"You don't have to lay it on this strong," she told him.

"I know. I just like to. You deserve it."

Mercedes felt the heat in her face burn even harder and tugged her hand out of Sam's.

"I wish I could have auditioned with everyone. It would be fun to do this show with you." Sam rubbed his hand over his neck and sighed.

"I get it. You have to work. There's nothing you can do. Besides. I might not even get in."

"Of course you'll get in. You're amazing."

"Oh no, I know I'm amazing. I'm just a little too different. Too loud. Too _black_. For West Side Story in Lima anyway." Sam smiled at her like he didn't know what to say and grabbed her hand again. "I kind of want to just take my mind off it."

Sam bit his lip and peered out into the living room. "Are your parents home?"

Mercedes smiled, turned their hands so that she could press her mouth to Sam's knuckles and said, "No. They aren't. They'll be gone for a while."

Sam tapped their twined hands to his mouth. "You wanna go upstairs?" he asked.

"Yeah."

Mercedes led Sam upstairs by the hand. She loved having a boyfriend. When she had been looking at Kurt with starry eyes while he strutted around his those silly boots and knee length sweaters, all of her fantasies had been about holding hands and getting roses and being romanced. And Sam had done all of that. And it had been just as great as it was in the fantasies.

She closed her bedroom door behind them and Sam pulled her arm a little bit, twirling her before backing her up against her bed and tumbling down next to her.

"How did you get this cheesy and ridiculous?"

"Let's see…" Sam said scrunching his face up like he was thinking really hard about it. "Mason went through a heartbroken phase for two months where he watched a bunch of Rom Coms and bitched about how there were no romantic men. I'd never had a girlfriend until I moved here, so I had time to think about all the romantic…" he kissed her forehead, "Cheesy," he kissed one cheek, "Ridiculous," he kissed the other, "Things that I could do with her." He pulled back. "You like it though right?"

"Yeah," Mercedes whispered. "I really do."

"I like that you like it," he whispered back, kissing her and gently rolling on top of her.

But this part, the part she hadn't really fantasized about yet, was pretty great too. She liked being kissed and held and made out with. She loved gripping Sam's solid arms while he kissed her. She liked the way he flicked his bangs out of the way when he pulled back for air.

And she liked that slight, almost nagging feeling that things could go further if she let them. Not quite as much as she liked knowing that she could trust Sam not to pressure her to go further. But, having the knowledge there, that he wanted her, that he thought she was sexy and beautiful…it was kind of awesome.

"Mhmm, Mercedes?" Sam started.

"Yeah?"

"You with me?"

"Yeah… just… sorry, just thinking."

"Everything okay?"

"Do you think Quinn figured out what's going on?"

"No. Quinn… gets scary over stuff like this. You know her better than I do, you were there longer. Did she do the scary thing?"

"No. She didn't. You're right. I just… Quinn's my friend. You're her ex. That's something I should have thought about."

"I get a say though right?"

"Of course you do."

"Okay… I want you."

Mercedes grinned and sat up to kiss him. "Sorry… this secret thing's harder than I thought it would be."

"We could tell people, you know."

"Not yet. It's going too well."

"Yeah. It is."

He smiled, flicked his bangs out of his eyes and came back down to kiss her.

"You can tell Kurt if you want to. I mean… he's your best friend. And we all know he can keep a secret."

Something seized up in Mercedes stomach. Something like hurt and jealousy. "Maybe. But for right now, while I've got you to myself, I just want to focus on you."

"Awesome."

* * *

><p>Finn left Rachel's house around nine. He had been planning to stick around, hopefully make out, but she had just been obsessively refreshing her email, waiting to find out that Jesse had decided she was the only person in the world who could possibly play Maria. So Finn had gone home and had a moment of panic when he walked in to find Burt and his Mom watching a movie, cuddling on the couch in a weird old person way, and realized that no secret signal shoes were set out and that Blaine's car was gone. If Kurt and Blaine had gotten caught it was going to kill his chances to get time alone with Rachel.<p>

"Hey, Finn," his mom called. "How were auditions? Kurt said you ran into some complications."

"Umm… yeah. I sort of did. Is Kurt here?"

"He's upstairs. Actually he said he wanted to talk to you when you got home."

"Kurt wants to talk to me?"

"Yeah."

"About what?" Finn wondered out loud.

"He didn't say," his mom shrugged.

She turned back to the movie. Finn frowned. It didn't sound like Kurt and Blaine had gotten caught, but now Finn was attempting to put together a list of things Kurt could possibly want to talk to him about. Usually when he was officially summoned to Kurt's room it was to get yelled at about "the barbaric state of the bathroom that I am not cleaning again Finn Hudson, go get the tile cleaner right now!"

And Finn had totally cleaned it… at some point before they left for New York. He sighed and trudged upstairs, bracing himself for the full force of Kurt's wrath and missing being an only child. Kurt was _so weird_ about the stupid bathroom.

Lady Gaga could be heard drifting out from under the door of Kurt's room. Finn only knocked once before Kurt threw the door open.

"Oh. Finn. I didn't think you'd be back this early. Come in. I need your help."

"Dude… what the hell happened in here?" Finn asked, staring around Kurt's room with his mouth hanging open. It looked like half of Kurt's closet had gone to war against the other half.

"Where do you get your clothes?" Kurt asked.

Finn sighed. He _liked_ plaid. "Oh… let me guess. Farmer Mart. Wal Market. Famers' Walmarket. Big and Tall Famer Mart. Big… Farmer and Tall."

Kurt gave him a look. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Isn't that where you going with this? Usually you make farmer jokes about my clothes."

Kurt looked like he was about to deny it for a minute, but stopped, closed his mouth, and opened it again. "You're right. I'm sorry. In all seriousness- where do you get your clothes?"

"Why do you care?"

Kurt bit his lip, and turned around. He picked up a pile of shirts that was bigger than a pile of all of the clothes Finn owned would be, even if he included his football uniform and his swim trunks, and set it on top of an even bigger pile of clothes, then sat down on the spot where the shirts had been, which was now the only surface in his entire room not covered in clothes.

"Blaine invited me over to dinner at his house to meet his parents on Tuesday and I'm freaking out a little."

That was not what Finn had been expecting. "Wow. Okay. Yeah. That's big stuff. The whole… meeting parents stuff," Finn said. He looked for a place that he could sit down, but was too afraid of touching Kurt's clothes to find one himself. "Aren't… Blaine's parents kind of formal? That's a lot more your area than mine. The last time I met someone's parents _you_ picked out my clothes."

Kurt quirked his head to the side. "You haven't met Rachel's dads?"

"Yeah, I've met them… just not like… you know. Formal dinner met them. Do you think I should formal dinner meet them?"

"Umm… yes? You date Rachel all the time… so yes?"

"I should have been able to figure that out by myself, huh?"

"Yes. Finn. You should have. Not to be a pain, but can we go back to my problem, please?"

"Sorry. Sure. Clothes. What's the problem?"

"The _problem_ is Blaine's parents are…" Kurt paused. Then kept pausing.

"They're what, man?"

"They aren't… they want Blaine to be straight, and they don't want to meet me, and you heard Jesse, I'm not capable of toning it down and I don't want to make this harder on Blaine that it already will be," Kurt said all in a rush, straightening the pile of shirts next to him.

"Wow. Okay. Well… first off- Fuck Jesse St. James."

"No thank you," Kurt said under his breath.

Finn willed himself to believe that he hadn't heard that, focusing instead on how much Kurt must like Blaine if he was willing to wear something Finn Approved over to Blaine's house. "And second off… Blaine likes your crazy clothes."

"Yes, Finn, but I've already met Blaine. This is his parents. And I think this will go better if I don't come off as quite so…" Kurt rolled his eyes. "Gay."

"Isn't meeting your boyfriend's parents already pretty gay?"

"Where do you get your clothes, Finn?"

"My mom buys my clothes."

Kurt's mouth dropped open. "Your mom actually buys your clothes?"

"Yeah."

"What,_ all_ of them?"

"Yeah?"

"And you have no idea where they're from. At all."

"Umm… I think the bag of shirts she just got me is from Target."

Kurt looked at him like he'd just grown an extra head. "Target?"

"Why don't you just wear this?" Finn asked, pointing at something that bright blue with buttons on it.

"That's a fall jacket," Kurt groaned, throwing himself back onto his bed into a pile of scarves. "And_ technically_ it's a woman's cut."

"All of your shirts are like… formal. Why don't you just pick a nice shirt and wear jeans?"

"A nice shirt and jeans," Kurt repeated from his pile of scarves.

"I'm sorry, if that's like a fashion sin or whatever, but wouldn't that be better than Target?"

"A nice shirt and jeans," Kurt said again, covering his face with his hands.

"Are you supposed to wear a suit or something? You could wear a nice suit."

"A nice shirt and jeans." He sounded like he was in pain.

"Look, I'm sorry, but you asked for my help!" Finn huffed.

Kurt sat back up suddenly and launched himself off the bed. "No, you're right. You are completely right. I should just wear a nice shirt and jeans. I have nice shirts. I have jeans."

"Yeah, man. There you go!" Finn said encouragingly. He was proud of himself. He had helped. He turned to leave.

"Wait, where are you going?" Kurt called after him.

"I thought that was it."

"That's not _it_, we've still got short sleeve, long sleeve, color. Epaulettes or not. Pockets or not. Light wash, dark wash. I'm going to need a belt," Kurt said, picking up a totally different stack of clothes and returning it to the closet. He grabbed another pile of clothes and stopped. "Unless… unless you had something else you had to do tonight."

Finn would rather do almost anything instead of help Kurt pick out clothes, especially when Kurt had clearly _gone crazy_, but he nodded.

"No. I've got time. Just… let me go get a can of pop. I'll be right back."

* * *

><p>"Did the email come yet?" Dave whispered when Santana dug her phone out again.<p>

"Give me a second. The 3G in your house sucks. I didn't know you were so into this."

They were watching a movie on Dave's computer. Santana leaned forward to pause it.

"I'm not."

"You so are. This is the third time you've asked me to check in the last 45 minutes. You're like a little kid."

"Can you please keep your voice down?" Dave sighed.

His parents and his brother were all home, and in accordance with the rules, Dave had to keep his door open when Santana was in his bedroom.

So that they wouldn't get up to anything inappropriate.

Dave had thought to himself several times over the last few weeks that his father's open door policy would actually be less annoying if he and Santana actually were dating. As things were, the open door just made him feel like he was expected to be seen touching her in some capacity, an impulse which, when acted on, usually caused her to hit him. It also meant that they couldn't talk about anything. But it was still better than Santana's house, where they had to sit in the living room while her mother made comments about him in Spanish and Santana replied with "Si, yo se, Mama."

The only really relaxing place to be with Santana was in his car, usually up at Lover's Lane. Dave found this uncomfortably ironic.

"How exactly are you planning on hiding the fact that you are spending every night at rehearsal?" Santana asked.

"I'm going to tell them that I'm at rehearsal, I just have to figure out how I'm going to put it."

"Mom, Dad, I like musicals," Santana laughed quietly. Dave shoved his shoulder into her.

"Shut up. It's gonna be like: Mom, Dad, I did some research, something something college, something something scholarships, something something… diversifying my academic portfolio."

"If I'd known you were a closet nerd, I never would have bearded with you." Santana laughed.

"Shhh…" Dave said immediately, even though he knew objectively that she had practically whispered it in his ear.

"Calm down, Dave." Santana smacked his shoulder in a way that could almost be classified as affectionate. "Aha- email at last!" Santana crowed, but her face fell instantly. "Oh."

"What's wrong? Is it from Jesse?"

"No its…" Santana started then stopped talking and swiped a hand by her eye.

"Are you okay?"

"It's from Brittany."

Dave bit his lip and cast his eyes toward the door, hating himself for it. He threw an arm around Santana. She stiffened for a moment, before setting her head on his shoulder.

"Are you going to open it?"

"I don't know, give me a second."

He waited.

"I mean… it's Brit. So it's probably just about an adventure her cat may or may not have had."

"Yeah."

"Or maybe… maybe she met someone. Some cute Icelander," Santana's voice went soft in a way it hardly ever did and Dave hugged her a little closer.

"You know what? Doesn't matter. Over her. Done. I'm not going to spend the whole summer wondering what she's doing. You want to check the cast list? I got an email from Jesse too."

"Are you su-"

"Whatever," Santana growled, opening Jesse's email.

The list of leads wasn't long.

"Hey, you got Anita, that's what you wanted right?"

"Yeah. That'll be fun," Santana said. Dave heard her sniffle, but didn't say anything. "And you're Riff. Big bad ass gang leader."

"In a musical about ballet dancing gangs," Karofsky snorted.

"And Berry's Maria, big surprise considering Jesse still wants to get into those ridiculous kid-section at Khols pants."

"Wait… that douche bag actually wants Rachel?"

"Try not to think about it too hard, it'll only upset you," Santana sighed. "And he got Blaine to gay-babysit her. He's Tony so no one else'll kiss her. Little does he know that Blaine once made out with her at a party and then they went on a date- that Eric kid is Bernardo-"

Dave finally caught up to Santana's commentary. "Wait- what?"

"Eric is-"

"No- Blaine is Kurt's boyfriend right?"

"Yeah. He and Rachel are going to be two hobbits in love."

"Kurt's boyfriend went out with Rachel?"

"I don't get it either and thinking about people kissing Rachel for too long makes me queasy, so let's just move on," Santana scrolled down a little further on her phone, "And Kurt got Action."

"From… Blaine or Rachel?" Dave asked, totally overwhelmed and about to kick Santana out if this was the conversation they were going to have.

"That's the name of the character that Kurt is going to play," Santana said, giving him a suspicious side eye that made him actually _want _to kick her out.

"Who is that?"

"I don't know. But he must have a solo if his character has a name." Santana opened her mouth as though she was going to add something, but flicked her eyes toward the door and shut it.

"Finn didn't get in?"

"Jesse hates him. They were competing for Berry's obnoxious affections at one point and Designer Scarf Boy eventually turned on her, and Finn swooped in, fast forward a year Jesse swoops back, and even though Finn was back with Quinn, Finn and Jesse got kicked out of prom for a fight I might have broken up, if I wasn't so curious to see which of them was going to cry like a girl when he lost."

"So basically you're saying this play is going to be just like Glee Club?" Dave clarified.

"Yes." Santana set her head back on Dave's shoulder, and refreshed her inbox on her phone. Brittany's email was still sitting there, marked as unread.

"Do you want me to… I don't know, pretend to go get you something. Give you some privacy?"

"Don't need it," Santana said decisively, tossing her phone onto her purse on the other side of the room. She leaned forward, hit play on Dave's computer and leaned back against him.

When Mark came up to check on him, he gave Dave a totally less than subtle thumbs up.

* * *

><p>"Blaine can you pass the peas?" His mother asked. Blaine reached out for the dish in front of him and handed it to her.<p>

"And straighten up," she added.

He blinked. "What?"

"Straighten up, it's rude to slouch over the dinner table. You look like you're hauling books for finals."

"Right," Blaine said, leaning back in his chair. "Sorry."

He'd been running over the plan in his head again. The logistics were going to work. Both of his parents were going to be home for dinner on Tuesday. He knew this because he'd heard his father saying something about his last two meetings of the day being cancelled on Tuesday and he knew his mother's cooking class had just ended. She had even mentioned a recipe that she wanted to try for dinner on Tuesday. It was French. Blaine hadn't caught what it was, and after his mother's Greek cooking class, and her Turkish cooking class, he had known better than to ask. He just hoped it had that fancy white cheese in it and ate what was in front of him.

Kurt spoke French. His mother would adore that… maybe.

Blaine was seriously starting to think about backing out, but thought he might as well test the waters.

"So… I got into the play."

"That's lovely, dear. What play?" his mother asked.

"West Side Story. The Lima Community Theater's putting it on. I got the male lead, Tony."

"Oh, I've seen West Side Story. In New York. Tony… he's the Romeo character right?"

"Yes. He's got some really great songs. It should be fun."

"Who's playing Maria?" his mother asked.

Here it was. Time for some water testing.

"Rachel Berry? One of Kurt's friends."

"Oh. Right. Kurt," His mother said. She took a sip from her wine glass, but Blaine was sure that he imagined it being deeper than the last sip.

"Kurt got in too. He's one of the Jets. He's Action, the guy that sings "Cool." He's really excited."

Blaine had no way of substantiating this. While he could use the blanket assumption that Kurt was always excited about solos, all of their communication about the casting email had been via text. Kurt had forgotten to call last night and when he'd texted this morning Blaine hadn't called back because he knew Kurt helped his father out at the garage on Fridays. And Kurt's text had included an emoticon, which could only mean three things 1: Someone had stolen Kurt's phone, 2: The world was coming to an end, or 3: Kurt was freaked about Blaine's stupid "Meet My Parents" idea.

Blaine couldn't blame him.

He should probably mention that Kurt worked at his father's garage. Blaine's dad would appreciate that.

"Haven't really talked to him about it yet though. The casting email came out kind of late last night and he's at work today."

"Oh," His father replied, busying himself with his steak.

Blaine's mother flicked her eyes up at his father and then at Blaine. "Where does Kurt work?"

"His father owns a tire shop. Kurt and his step-brother Finn, Finn is Rachel's boyfriend, they help out on the weekends and sometimes on Tuesdays. Kurt practically grew up there and Finn just started so Kurt's still teaching Finn to change oil and tires and stuff, but Kurt can do some of the mechanics stuff. I mean, not a lot of it. Kurt says cars are all computers now, so there's really only so much you can do without being an actual mechanic, but he does most of the work on his own car." Blaine nodded along with his own voice, caught himself, stopped, and made sure he was still sitting up straight. He took a nervous sip of his milk.

"Well, that's nice. Did you hear that, Chester? Kurt works on cars."

Okay. That was progress. His mother was having a conversation about Kurt.

"That's a pretty good job, I understand," his dad replied.

"I think he enjoys it," Blaine said.

"Does Kurt's mother work?" Blaine's mom asked.

"Umm… Kurt's mother actually passed away when he was eight."

His mother made her 'polite expression of sympathy' sound, sort of a tsk and an "ohh" put together.

"His dad, Burt… is his name. You've talked to him. He only remarried this year. Kurt's step mother, Carol, she's a receptionist for the Dentist's office down on Baker. She's thinking about going back to school and getting her degree to become a hygienist. Now that Finn's almost out of the house. Carol is Finn's mom." Blaine was pretty sure his shirt collar was trying to strangle him.

"What does Rachel Berry's father do?" Blaine's father asked.

Blaine opened his mouth to answer that Rachel had two gay fathers, but he had already gotten the themes of "Kurt" and "Tuesday" worked into the conversation, and didn't want to use the phrase "two fathers" and then try to bring things back around to Kurt. Not when his father had already caught him watching one of the "New Yorkers for Equality" videos this morning.

"I don't know what her parents do," Blaine said, taking another sip of his milk. "I guess I never asked."

He had actually. On their date he had found out that Hiram was a lawyer and the Leroy used to teach dance at Ohio State, but when they'd moved to Lima he had decided to take a break from the academic life and look for something else. He couldn't remember what Rachel had said he'd found. Blaine had been too focused on trying to figure out whether or not he wanted to kiss her again.

"Oh," his father replied.

"Actually… Kurt has this Tuesday off," Blaine said, wrenching the conversation back around, "From the shop. So he doesn't have to work. On Tuesday."

"It's nice that he helps his father," Blaine's mom said politely.

"I was… I was going to ask him if he wanted to come over for dinner. Here. So you could meet him."

His mother looked up from her plate. His father took a sip from his wine glass. It was definitely deeper than the last sip.

"I mean… he's never even seen where I live," Blaine said. He popped a piece of steak in his mouth to keep himself from saying anything else.

"Well… I've got Tuesday night free," his mother said. "And I had a recipe I'd like to try out on someone. You two would eat dirt if I put garlic on it. Does Kurt like French food?"

"Yes. Kurt speaks excellent French."

"Lovely. Chester, you had Tuesday free right?"

"I'll double check my calendar," his father said and then surprised Blaine by adding, "But I should be free on Tuesday."

"Would… six o'clock work?"

"Yes. That would be fine," Blaine said, finishing off the last of his milk with a gulp.

"Perfect," his mother said, returning to her peas. "Blaine, you're slouching again."

* * *

><p>Burt had been Kurt's father for too long to not worry when Kurt starting acting different, or spending more time in his room than usual. At the old house Kurt had spent most of his time skulking in the basement, but it had been a big room and he had been unhappy a lot of the time. But since he'd joined glee club two years ago, Kurt had been okay for the most part. Up until last fall anyway. But then everything had finally come together with Blaine and Kurt was, for the most part happy.<p>

So it struck Burt as strange that Blaine hadn't been around all weekend and Kurt had been quietly working in his room since the last time Burt had seen Blaine.

Kurt hadn't mentioned anything, but sometimes he didn't.

So, Sunday morning, when Kurt had finished his single pancake and gone back up to his room, Burt sat down next to Finn as he shoveled down his third pancake and took the syrup out of Finn's hand.

"Hey-" Finn said reaching for the syrup. Burt pulled it back, not out of Finn's reach, but far enough for Finn to rethink grabbing it.

"What's up with Kurt? He's been weird since Thursday. He and Blaine have a fight?"

"Oh. No they didn't fight. Blaine asked Kurt to go to his house and meet his parents on Tuesday, and they're both freaking out a little. Kurt's trying on everything he owns."

"By Tuesday?" Burt laughed.

Finn rolled his eyes and nodded furiously. "I know. He made me go through all of his blue shirts with him on Thursday. I don't think there are really 50 shades of blue. There's no way cerulean's a real thing."

"So… where's Blaine? Why isn't he going through all the shades of blue?"

Finn bit his lip and let his gaze drift over to the syrup in Burt's hand.

"It has something to do with tennis. He called after Kurt decided red and orange were off the table. I was too bored to listen.

Burt handed the syrup back to Finn, basking in the pure and simple joy of being able to exchange food for information, and moved to get up.

"Burt?" Finn asked.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think it's weird that I haven't sat down and had dinner with Rachel's dads?"

"You've never had dinner with Rachel's dads?"

"It's not cause they're gay," Finn said quickly. "It's because the last time I met someone's parents it was Quinn and then they gave her half an hour to pack and kicked her out. Also I can't pronounce Rachel's white dad's name and they're both sort of intense like Rachel and the idea of having dinner with three Rachels sort of makes me want to crawl under my bed and never come out."

Burt sat back down, unsurely. His and Finn's relationship up to this point had pretty much focused around talking about sports.

"Does Rachel think it's weird that you haven't met her dads?"

"I don't know."

"Have her dad's ever said anything to you about having you over for dinner?"

"I don't think so?"

Burt nodded. Maybe Carol had a point about getting to know the parents of the people the kids were dating. Fourth of July was coming up in a couple of weeks, maybe they should have a barbeque or something.

Burt attempted to imagine a barbeque that included Blaine's parents, he and Carol, Rachel's fathers and Kurt, Blaine, Finn and Rachel all in the same yard. "Or something" it was.

"Tell you what- you can't exactly invite yourself over to her house for dinner, and we've never had Rachel come over to meet us either. How about Tuesday you invite Rachel over for dinner. It'll just be you two and me and Carol."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Why not? We have Blaine over all the time."

Finn's face split into a grin. "She'll love that. I'll go call her." Finn stood up, smiled again, "Thanks, Burt."

Burt nodded and waved Finn off, feeling a little guilty that he had only just realized that maybe Kurt wasn't the only son in the house who needed a father sometimes.

* * *

><p>When Blaine came to pick Kurt up on Tuesday he was so tired that he had some concerns that he might die. Which would have been tragic considering he had just survived the longest weekend of his life.<p>

His father had drug him to the club on Saturday for an entire afternoon of tennis with Mr. Peterson and Mr. Shore. Then the afternoon of tennis had then turned into dinner with Mr. Peterson and his son Carter, who was going to Stanford, and with Mr. Shore and his daughter Abigail, who went to Crawford County Day, but was already trying to decide between Yale and Harvard.

But at least the dinner hadn't been a total bust. Carter and Abigail had turned out to be pretty cool. All three of their father's had disappeared to the smoking room for a cigar. Abigail had grabbed a waiter and innocently explained that they expected to come back to full scotch glasses in what, halfway through the scotch her father was never going to see, she had described as her "very best Country Club Princess Voice. This is why I want to go to school so far away."

"That was exactly my reasoning for choosing a school on the other side of the damn country. It turned out to be a brilliant move," Carter had sighed, finishing his own father's supposed scotch. "But you have no idea how many prissy Harvard boys my father made me play racquetball with before he finally gave up."

"If I go to a school my father wants me to go to, I'll get more spending money," Abigail had shrugged.

"My father just doesn't want me to go to New York," Blaine had joined in. He'd drunk his scotch too fast and been a little blurry at the time. "He thinks I'm going to follow my boyfriend out there and have a big gay wedding and live under a Broadway stage with the rats."

Carter and Abigail had snorted.

"Yale's got great gay scholarships," Abigail had told him, patting his arm. "They're trying to save some face after that whole thing in the twenties where they ran all the gays out with pitchforks got all that bad press."

"Gay Pitchfork Scholarship. I'll mention that to my father," Blaine had replied in a tone that had made them all laugh in a nasty, bratty way that Blaine had tried to blame on the scotch.

And then Monday had been another pre-dawn round of racquetball, this time with someone whose son was back from Oxford for the summer.

"Maybe," Blaine yawned to himself as he went up Kurt's walk, "I can just fall asleep at the table, snore through dinner, and Kurt can be witty and charming and just wake me up when this is over."

Blaine punched the door bell, surprised when the door not only swung open before the buzzer had even finished sounding, but it was Kurt standing there. He'd figured that Kurt would still be upstairs, agonizing over whether or not he needed a pin or one more layer of hair spray.

Then Blaine saw what Kurt was wearing and woke up immediately.

"Kurt?" He asked, as Kurt pulled him in before he let all the heat in. "What are you… what are you wearing?"

"Is this not dressy enough? I have a long sleeve just like it. And I have khakis somewhere too."

"It's…" Blaine attempted.

"It's plaid is what it is," a voice called from the living room. Blaine finally tore his eyes away from Kurt's clothes and set his gaze on Rachel, who was standing in the living room with her arms crossed, wearing something that was sort of like a pink, short-skirt, short-sleeve version of her horrible dress from the "Party We Do Not Talk About Blaine", as it had come to be known.

"Actually it's checkered," Kurt replied in a long-suffering tone, not even turning around to face her.

"It's awful," Rachel told him, point blank.

"Hey," Finn piped up from the couch. "I picked that shirt out."

"Rachel, you look like a strawberry smoothie escaped from a key party and tried to drown you." Kurt spat back.

Blaine rounded on Kurt. "You let_ Finn_ pick your clothes out?"

"What's wrong with checkered?" Finn demanded from the couch, then clearly realized that he had not jumped to Rachel's defense. "Hey, I love strawberry smoothies."

"This is not exactly the boost in confidence that I was hoping for before going to meet your parents, Blaine," Kurt said in a low voice that actually did sound a little hurt.

Oh. That's what this was. Blaine sighed and grabbed Kurt's hand. "You look nice… you just… you don't look like you."

"I don't have to scream for attention all the time," Kurt sighed. "I can tone it down every once in a while."

Blaine bit his lip and looked his boyfriend over. Kurt was wearing a short sleeve, light blue, checkered, button up shirt. It was neat, but not as fitted as most of Kurt's other shirts. He'd paired it with jeans that could not be described as anything other than jeans, and loafers, which while nice, were still just plain.

"Did you even do anything with your hair?" Blaine asked.

"There's a little de-frizzer in it. It's humid out," Kurt told him defensively.

Burt walked in from the kitchen and clapped his hands together. "Okay, Rachel, we are still working on dinner. Is salad vegan enough?" Burt asked in a tone that was doing wonders to avoid being snippy. Then he caught sight of Kurt. "Whoa…what the hell are you wearing?"

"Hey- I picked out that shirt!" Finn repeated. "It took hours! I had to learn a hundred different shades of blue!"

"What shade of blue is this?" Blaine asked.

Finn scrunched up his face, evaluating Kurt. "Periwinkle."

Blaine looked at Kurt, who seemed disheartened. "It's azure. Actually."

Finn threw himself back on the couch. "Dammit."

Carol came out into the living room. "Okay, Rachel, is vinaigrette vegan?" She also caught sight of Kurt. "Oh… Kurt…. You… is that Finn's shirt?"

Blaine gripped Kurt's hand and started tugging him upstairs. "Come on."

"You let Finn pick out your clothes?" he asked again as Kurt dropped down onto his bed.

"Not 'pick out'," Kurt sighed. "More like 'have final approval on'. I thought it would be easier this way."

"Easier if you looked like Finn."

"I look like you, too," Kurt said quietly.

"I would never wear those jeans," Blaine told him, giving him a grin that seemed to drop into the black hole of Kurt's mood.

"I know what I usually look like. It's easier that way. When people see my clothes then they're already prepared for the way I sound, and the way I act, and if they don't want to deal with me, then I don't have to deal with them. I didn't think that was the best approach to use with your parents."

Blaine leaned down, kissed Kurt's temple and unbuttoning the top couple buttons of Kurt's horrible checkered shirt.

"Bullshit, Kurt," Blaine said softly, letting Kurt finish taking his shirt off while Blaine walked into his closet. "You dress the way you do because you like it. You do it for yourself and because you know that you look beautiful and sexy." He flipped through a few similarly blue, and thankfully more interesting, shirts.

"I think you're afraid that my parents won't like you the way you are, I think you've honed in on what you think they won't like about you, and I think you're doing your best to camouflage it." He picked out one he'd never seen Kurt in, and pulled it out. "Which is bullshit because I know you. You don't care what people think about you. I _love_ that you don't care what people think," he gave Kurt a crooked smile. "I look up to you for that."

"Yes, Blaine," Kurt sighed, pulling the checkered shirt off, revealing his little white undershirt for a moment before replacing it with the shirt Blaine had picked out. "It doesn't matter what random assholes and Neanderthals and the Future Ditch Diggers of America think, but it actually matters what your family thinks. And I…" Kurt sighed, finished buttoning the shirt, and dropped in front of his vanity. "I know that your family isn't like mine. My dad used to have tea parties with me. He took me to Riverdance three years in a row. He put a basket on my bike. He bought me a hope chest that I found at a vintage store when I was eight. My dad told me about you and your dad and rebuilding the car."

Blaine's face burned as he wondered just how much of that conversation Mr. Hummel had replayed to Kurt. Judging by the total lack of pink on Kurt's face, Blaine guessed that Mr. Hummel hadn't told Kurt the real reason for Blaine's visit that day.

"I don't… I don't know how to deal with your family. I don't how to go and be likable with people that have to pretend to like me… or don't have to pretend to like me and I just… I don't know. It seemed like a good idea to just… not throw me in their faces."

"I didn't mean to freak you out," Blaine said, running his hands into Kurt's weirdly flat hair. Kurt smacked his hand away and Blaine smiled at him in the mirror. "They aren't going to say anything to you. They're going to be polite."

"You said you were hoping that this would make your parents… more comfortable with us being together. I figured a fake money hair shawl or a corset or a backless silk vest wasn't really going to help the cause. I don't want to have to be polite and awkward."

"Do you really own a corset?" Blaine asked.

"Of course I do." Kurt replied, pumping some sort of hair product that smelled sort of like lavender into his hand and running it through his hair.

"If I grabbed you some darker wash jeans you could wear your clock bowtie."

"There's too much detail on the shirt for that, Blaine," Kurt sighed, beginning to comb his hair up a little bit and over in sort of a softer version of the way Blaine usually gelled his hair.

"What do you usually wear with this shirt?"

"A scarf, plaid pants, my boots and a blue belt."

"What color blue?" Blaine asked.

Kurt glared daggers at him in the mirror. "Cornflower."

"Okay. Well. It's too hot for those boots. So black loafers… you have to change those jeans… what else?"

"What do you mean what else?"

"You would never wear loafers, a shirt and jeans to school, Kurt."

"Do we have time for this?" Kurt asked.

"Yes. We do," Blaine told him firmly. He didn't add that he'd built some time for one of them to freak out into his plan for the night. He'd just figured it would be him.

"Fine," Kurt sighed. He finished with his hair and set his hands down in front of him, evaluating his slightly wan reflection in the mirror before getting up and going to his closet. He dug out a rubber made container labeled "DARK PATTERENED SCARVES COOL COLORS" and tossed it to Blaine, then picked out a pair of black patent leather shoes and a patent leather belt. He pulled a pair of grey skinny jeans out of a cubby hole and brought that over to the bed as well.

Blaine watched him work. He laid the jeans out next to Blaine on his bed, laid the belt over the top of them, then dug through the container of scarves, pulling five out and draping them over the jeans and belt before grabbing one with an abstract angular pattern, with a little bit of grey and black and dark blue in it. He left it on top of the other clothes and looked up at Blaine.

"Can you stand outside please?"

Right. Pants off. Blaine out.

"Kay," Blaine agreed. He grabbed Kurt by the arms again and pulled him down for another kiss before leaving his room.

He stood outside Kurt's door awkwardly. His phone buzzed and he grabbed it.

_From Thad: Good luck with the guess who's coming to dinner deal tonight._

Blaine smiled. But then Thad had to ruin it.

_From Thad: If I'm not in the wedding party I will follow you and Kurt around on your honeymoon throwing rotten fruit at you._

It buzzed again.

_From David: Me too. I'll even be maid of honor. Unless the dress is chartreuse. Then you are on your own._

Blaine huffed. He was going to have to get better friends one of these days. His phone buzzed again as he shoved it into his pocket, and he pulled it out again, fully expecting a snide comment from Wes about the menu at his imaginary wedding, and considering whether or not pointing out that he, Blaine, actually could not legally get married in most of the country would shut them up when he saw who it was from. And what it said.

_From Puck New Directions: There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars_

_Oh shit._ Blaine thought as Kurt's door swung open and he stepped out.

"How's this?" Kurt asked, spreading his arms out.

Blaine shoved his phone in his pocket and grinned at him. "You're breathtaking."

Kurt rolled his eyes, but smiled. "Can we please just go now?"

"Right. First let's go show your family that you have not fallen victim to checker pattern, then let's go deal with my family, and then we will come back here and burn those jeans."

"You just don't like them because they aren't skin tight," Kurt sighed.

"This is a contributing factor," Blaine admitted.


	11. You Want Me To Tell You What It's Like?

Blaine slotted his keys into the ignition, but didn't turn them.

"What's wrong?" Kurt asked, adjusted his grip on the simple bouquet he was bringing for Blaine's mom.

He'd spent the weekend racking his brain trying to think of something appropriate to bring as a gift. His first thought had been dessert, but most of his favorite recipes didn't travel well and all prepared food was under the constant threat of Finn.

His father had actually been the one to suggest bringing flowers to Blaine's mother. Something about the way he'd suggested it-distant… just a little sad- had even convinced Kurt to eschew his diatribe against daisies. When his father had suggested a little bit of lavender and a green ribbon, then suddenly snapped back from wherever he had gone, Kurt had known better than to ask.

Blaine dropped his head back against his headrest and turned his face toward Kurt, that puppy dog look that Kurt wanted to hate, but couldn't, in full effect. "If you want to back out, that's okay. I'll tell my parents that something came up. That you got sick or something."

"Blaine, we can do whatever you want to do. Do you want to back out?"

Blaine bit his lip and seemed to be considering. Kurt knew that Blaine could be an overdramatic pain in the ass sometimes. Most of the time, really. This was a boy who thought that the appropriate response to a crush and a cup of coffee was to sing "When I Get You Alone" at someone's work, with twenty-five backup singers.

Blaine overreacted when he was excited. Blaine overreacted when he was happy.

But Blaine didn't overreact when he was scared. He got quiet, and reasonable and determined.

"No," he answered quietly. "I don't want to back out. But maybe… after dinner we should come back to your house."

"Okay," Kurt agreed.

"And… I think everything's going to be fine with my mom. She'll be a little weird, a little hyper polite, but she'll talk to you… just… my dad isn't your dad."

"I know that."

"So… if he says anything… weird to you, just remember that it isn't you."

"Are you sure you don't want me to go put my Finn shirt back on?" Kurt asked, catching himself fingering his carefully tied scarf nervously and putting his hand back around the bouquet. Now that he was back into his regular clothes he really did feel better. The idea behind the plain clothes approach had been camouflage, but now that he had his nice shirt and scarf back on, he'd realized how much it had freaked him out to try to do this without his usual armor.

"Yes," Blaine answered immediately. "I want them to meet _you_."

"They aren't going to like me, are they?"

"There's only one way to find out," Blaine said, grabbing his keys and turning them in the ignition.

"Blaine?"

"Yeah?"

Kurt reached out and put his hand on Blaine's cheek, "Come here."

Blaine followed Kurt's hand and Kurt pulled him in for a kiss. Blaine set his forehead to Kurt's.

"Courage," Kurt said quietly, a smile in his voice.

Blaine huffed out a laugh. "I love you."

"Of course you do, look how fabulously dressed I am," Kurt responded.

Blaine pressed their lips together again, just a quick peck, pulled back and put the car in drive.

* * *

><p>Dave was laying in the living room trying to read "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire". His mom was in the kitchen, making something that smelled amazing and Mark was upstairs playing video games. His dad was still at work.<p>

Dave turned a page, realized he hadn't taken in anything from the last page, and turned back. He was trying to get caught up on the series before the last movie came out, but, like with everything else, he was having trouble concentrating.

Reading usually helped. It let him go somewhere else for a little while, which was relaxing, but he'd spent the last hour staring at a picture of a dragon and going over, yet again, his little speech convincing himself that it was just stupid to keep putting it off telling his parents about the play. That no one would think it meant anything. That it was ridiculous that he'd hidden his script and his sheet music in the console of his car, and that adding one more thing to his list of stresses couldn't possibly be healthy.

His mom would be happy. She'd want to come see it. His father would be surprised, but wouldn't read anything into it. His father had a guitar down in the basement somewhere. He might even think it was kind of cool. And Mark… when Dave blamed the whole thing on Santana, Mark was just going to warn him not to get whipped again.

Dave gave up, turned down the corner of the page he'd been staring at and set the book on the end table. He got up, pulled his car keys out of his pocket and walked into the kitchen, toward the garage door.

"Sweetheart?" His mom said, looking up from stirring, "You aren't leaving are you? Dinner's in half an hour."

"No, Mom. I just… I need to grab my script out of my car."

"Your script?" His mom smiled, "For what?"

"Santana and I auditioned for the community play. West Side Story. We got in. We, uh…" he grinned just a little, he was proud of himself for this. "We got leads."

"You didn't tell us you were auditioning for a play!" His mom said, sounding excited and confused at the same time.

"It was kind of last minute. It was Santana's idea."

"Oh… Santana, huh?" his mom grinned at him in a way that made his chest hurt. "You know, I keep hearing about this girl, and she's been so good for you, and we've never sat down with her. Why don't you invite her to dinner tonight?"

Dave froze. "Tonight. That's a little… dinner's in half an hour."

"Well, at least call her. Is she free tonight? I can keep this warm a little longer if I need to."

"I don't know."

"I promise not to embarrass you in front of your girlfriend. Just call her."

"Umm… Okay."

Dave continued out to his car, climbed inside and shut the door behind him before calling Santana. She didn't even ask what they were serving, and said she'd be there in twenty minutes. Dave thanked her, grabbed his script, and wondered for a moment when exactly he and Santana Lopez had become friends.

* * *

><p>Blaine held the door open for Kurt and waved him inside, watching Kurt a little too closely for a reaction to the intensely modern and excruciatingly clean foyer and living room.<p>

"Wow… this is your house?" Kurt said, marveling at the high ceilings and the brand new furniture. Blaine nodded.

"What do you think? Ikea in space?"

Kurt chuckled. "It's…remind me to show you pictures of my old room sometime."

"Was it like this?"

"It was Dior grey, not blue like this."

"What shade of blue is this?" Blaine asked, trying to smile.

"Sky," Kurt answered.

Blaine brushed his knuckles against Kurt's, reaching out to grab his hand until a voice behind them said, "Blaine? Is that you?"

Blaine spun around in time to see a look of surprise being expertly wiped from his mother's face and replaced with a smile. "And this must be Kurt."

Kurt smiled, and started toward her, Blaine following along belatedly.

"Hello, Mrs. Anderson," Kurt said, extending his hand confidently. "It's so nice to meet you." He shook her hand and then extended the bouquet. "These are for you."

Blaine watched his mother's lips quirk up a little more genuinely as she took the daisies, with a few sprigs of lavender tucked between them and a mint green ribbon tied around them.

"Well, aren't you sweet. Dinner's almost ready. We're having Steak Helene and asparagus. Mushroom caps and salad to start."

"That sounds wonderful," Kurt said, in that sort of breathy tone he used when he was actually excited about something.

His mom smiled at them. "Blaine, why don't you give Kurt a tour of the house? I'll call when everything's ready."

"Okay." Blaine said. His mom looked Kurt over quickly, then turned back to the kitchen.

"Well… that wasn't so bad was it?" Kurt grinned at him. Blaine smiled, grabbed Kurt's hand and tugged him toward the stairs.

"Come on, let me show you the study."

"Do I get to see your room?" Kurt asked.

"It's on the tour route."

Kurt laughed and squeezed his hand.

Blaine walked Kurt around the study, his favorite room in the house. He showed off how the invasive blue of the house was light and airy in the study, and how the leather sofa and matching wooden bookshelves were warm and homey. How it even had a fireplace and the spot in the corner where you could put a couple pillows so you could sit next to the fire and put a cup of hot cocoa on the hearth to keep it warm.

"And this is my room," he said, tugging Kurt inside and closing the door behind them. Kurt looked around with a smirk on his face, taking in the upright piano on one side of the room, the four poster bed. The dark wood and oxblood accents on everything. The vintage noir poster that Blaine had gotten from an aunt that didn't go with anything, but that he'd always liked. The dark wood bookshelves filled with leather bound classics he was supposed to have read, a bunch of comic books he was supposed to have liked and a few well thumbed books he'd actually loved.

He'd finally cleaned all of last year's school papers off of his desk and tucked them into a drawer. His desk looked clean and utterly unused with just his computer, his Ipod dock, and the two picture frames on it: a collage of Warbler photos on one side and his and Kurt's prom picture on the other side.

"What are you smirking about?"

"Blaine, your two favorite rooms in your house are crosses between Dalton and the Gryffindor common room."

Blaine blushed, about to deny it, but stopped.

"Let me show you something. This might be the only time I actively assist you in being right, though, so I hope you appreciate it," Blaine told him. He opened the door, grabbed the little step stool inside it and stretched up to the top shelf, tugging a blanket down.

"What is that?" Kurt laughed.

"Technically? It's a University of Minnesota Gophers blanket."

"But it's scarlet and gold." Kurt rolled his eyes.

"This is my winter comforter. And it's awesome." Blaine stuck his tongue out at Kurt. "I wrap up in it when I'm reading in the study. And pretend I got sorted into Gryffindor."

Kurt laughed as Blaine's phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out again.

_From Puck New Directions: I was surprised, as always, by how easy the act of leaving was, and how good it felt. The world was suddenly rich with possibility._

"Who is it?" Kurt asked.

"Uh…" Blaine started, but was interrupted by a soft knocking on the already opening door.

"Boys, we're ready to start salad," his mom said. "Kurt, would you like milk or grape juice with dinner?"

"Milk, please."

"Okay. You boys will be right down?" Her tone was very clear, and the smile that Blaine gave her in response was tight.

"Yeah, Mom. Just let me put this away."

She nodded and turned away, leaving the door wide open.

Blaine set his phone on top of his bookshelf and refolded his comforter.

"Who's been texting you all night?" Kurt asked.

"Umm… Thad and David have been sending me mocking comments about our apparently inevitable and upcoming wedding, in which David seems to think he will be a bridesmaid."

Kurt snorted and grabbed Blaine's phone off the shelf, "Here, I'll tell him what he'll…"

Kurt had opened Blaine's messages before Blaine could stop him.

"Blaine…"

Blaine looked up from his folding to see Kurt with one hand on his hip and his eyebrow arched.

"Yes, Kurt?"

"Why is Puck sending you poetry?"

Blaine considered how to explain what he thought might be going on. "Oh. That. Let me run a theory past you."

"Ahem." A deep sound that Blaine recognized, and hadn't expected, burst into the conversation from the door. Blaine spun around to face the door.

"Hi, Dad."

His dad was still in his suit and tie. "Your mother is setting out appetizers."

"We're on our way down. Dad, this is Kurt."

Kurt smiled, not quite as confidently as he had with Blaine's mother, and set Blaine's phone down on the top of the nearest book shelf. He crossed the room and extended his hand firmly.

"Mr. Anderson, it's so nice to meet you."

His father looked down at Kurt's hand for a moment before extending his own and shaking it, just once, hard. He let go, nodded at both of them, and left. Blaine felt his shoulders slump a little as watched Kurt look out the door briefly, biting his lip. He turned back to Blaine.

"You look like your mother."

* * *

><p>The upside of being around Rachel was that you never had to worry that much about what to say. Mostly because you never had a chance to break into the conversation.<p>

But after a weekend of helping Kurt go through his closet while Kurt freaked out, Finn couldn't help but feel grateful. Finn wasn't nervous about Burt and his mom having dinner with Rachel, and he wasn't worried about Rachel having dinner with them. He knew his mom liked Rachel a lot more than she'd ever liked Quinn. He knew that Burt kind of got that Rachel and Kurt were similar sometimes, so Burt was prepared to deal with Rachel for an hour or so.

Finn had just totally forgotten about the vegan thing, and a better boyfriend wouldn't have. He'd heard a million times about how cheese came from torturing cows and how eating eggs was like eating fetuses. He'd eaten these unbelievably gross cookies she bought from some secret grocery store down town that you needed a membership card for.

So he'd invited Rachel to dinner, and all she'd been able to eat was salad and peas.

"And of course I'm thrilled about getting an iconic character like Maria. Though, in deference to the changes in expectations of racial sensitivity I'm going to have to think of a way to get around an accent. I should really ask Santana what she thinks the best course of action is there. She's the only person on the Shark side who is actually Hispanic." Rachel reached for her water glass and Burt cut into the conversation.

"Santana's in the play too?"

"Mhmm," Rachel said. "Santana is playing Anita, Maria's older and more worldly cousin who owns the dress shop they both work in. A boy from Carmel, Eric I think his name was, is playing Bernardo, the leader of the Jets and Anita's lover. Blaine is going to be Tony, a former gang member who's gone legitimate and who falls in love with Maria at a dance where the Jets and the Sharks meet up for a war council about their next rumble."

"Who's playing Riff?" Finns' mom asked. Rachel smiled at her, like she was proud his mom knew that.

"Who's Riff?" Burt asked.

"He's the other gang leader." Carol said, "We did West Side Story when I was in school. I went to the show three times because I had such a crush on the guy that played Riff. He was two years older and he had a motorcycle."

Finn looked at Rachel and shook his head.

"What?" his mom asked. "Why's this a secret? Finn did you get it?"

"Umm… no." Finn answered.

"David Karofksy got it."

* * *

><p>Santana had never expected to feel protective of anyone beside Brittany, certainly not a boy, but dinner with Dave's family was starting to make that feeling, that sort of hollow feeling in her heart that she felt whenever someone called Brit dumb, start up in her chest.<p>

She wasn't even sure why this dinner was bringing that feeling out in her. She was having a perfectly enjoyable discussion with his parents, who seemed like nice people. They were asking her about glee club and why she quit cheerios and were being totally reasonable about it. His brother was an asshole, but no more of an asshole than she expected from the couple times that she had met him. His parents even seemed excited about she and Dave getting into the play.

And she felt protective because Dave didn't seem to realize it.

"And then he dies in a knife fight," Dave finished, blushing and taking a big bite of his mashed potatoes.

His father, Paul, laughed, "Well… that's quite a finish."

"If the play works out maybe you could join Glee Club again," his mom, Cindy, said, offering the bowl of mashed potatoes out to Santana, who took them and shoveled a few more spoonfuls onto her plate.

"You were in the Glee Club?" his brother, Mark, snorted.

"Our football coach forced us all to do it for a week," Dave told him defensively.

"And it was awesome," Santana announced, turning to Mark and giving her best "I wear heels bigger than your dick" eyebrow. He backed down a little bit, but not as much as Santana would have preferred. "We did a mash up of "Thriller" and the Yeah Yeah Yeah's "Heads Will Roll" at the championship game. We dressed up like zombies and scared the sh- the other team senseless." Santana just barely caught herself in time, but Cindy smiled at her. A young "oh, I know what you meant" sort of smile.

"Tanaka had you sing at your own game?" Mark demanded.

"Tanaka's engagement fell apart on the wedding day, and then he had a nervous breakdown," Dave said, "The new coach, Beiste, she had us do glee."

"They hired a woman to coach football and she put you in glee."

"Hey," Santana said, a little more a bark than necessary in her voice, "When Tanaka was coach he had the team do the Single Ladies dance before a kick."

"And that was the only game they won all season," Dave said, then cleared his throat and took a deep drink of his Coke. "I've… I've actually kind of thought about joining the glee club. I mean… the point of moving from hockey to football was to get scholarships. But the Titans suck. At least the glee club wins sometimes."

"He speaks the truth," Santana shrugged.

"That's… that's sort of the idea behind the play too. Ms. Pillsbury told me that it's easier to get arts scholarships than sports scholarships. And it's even easier to get into schools if you do a little bit of everything.

"But if you're coming out to Nebraska with me, you've got to get this whole football disaster sorted out," Mark said, pointing at Dave with his fork.

"No, I know," Dave said. "But I'm looking at Ohio State too, and there are a couple private schools in Chicago that have great art scholarships."

"I didn't know you were thinking about Chicago, David," Paul smiled. "Where are you looking?"

Dave paled and stuttered and Santana dove in. "Oh, gosh, can we… I'm sorry, can we just skip the college talk tonight? My parents are just hounding me and I'm starting to panic anytime anyone mentions it."

Dave's parents laughed, Dave gave her a grateful smile and Cindy said, "So, Santana. The Glee Club went to New York this year right?"

Santana nodded, and launched into a couple of her favorite New York stories, Dave set his hand over hers.

It was so nice and so normal she almost didn't care anymore that it was just a lie.

* * *

><p>Blaine was starting to get a headache. Keeping the conversation going was starting to feel like pulling teeth. His own teeth. With his bare hands. His father was silently eating steak at the head of the table, and surreptitiously giving Kurt the same concerned sideways glance that he gave Blaine's prom picture.<p>

Blaine had so been hoping that the thing his parents would be most awkward about tonight would be the fact that the boy they were meeting was important to him. The Blaine had a boyfriend and that all attempts to ignore "the gay thing" were, as of now, totally futile.

His mother was at least trying. She was radiating discomfort, tripping over words and obviously over thinking everything she said before she spoke, but at least she was engaged in a conversation about West Side Story with Kurt.

But they were both giving Kurt this look. Like they'd boxed him up already.

Delicate.

Steroetypical.

Effeminate.

Gay.

And Blaine knew he was only one of those things and it just killed him to watch brave, beautiful, brilliant, talented Kurt, get sold so short. Blaine's father hadn't even asked Kurt what Mr. Hummel did. His father always asked people what their fathers did.

"So, Blaine says your father owns a garage?" his mother said. Out of the corner of his eye, Blaine saw his father perk up at that. Clearly he'd forgotten about Blaine telling them that last week. Or he hadn't really been listening. Or he'd met Kurt and assumed it couldn't be true and was waiting to see how he responded.

"Hummel Tires and Lube," Kurt answers. "It used to be Wachowski Tires and Lube, and he worked there after high school and through junior college. He bought it out with the wedding money my parents got from my grandfather on my mother's side."

"Blaine said you work there sometimes," His father stated, and Blaine nearly swallowed his tongue in surprise. His father had spoken to Kurt. And had been listening the last time Blaine had been talking about Kurt.

"Yes. On the weekends and sometimes Tuesday if it's really busy, but it's usually not during the summer."

"So you… answer phones, greet customers, do the books?"

Blaine fought the urge to drop his head into his hands in embarrassment. He'd told his father what Kurt did at his dad's shop. He looked over at Kurt apologetically. Kurt's cheeks had pinked, but his voice was steady and unoffended when he replied.

"No, my dad is really protective of any of the accounting. I helped him move everything from paper to computer last year, but he handles all of the money. I work in the shop. Changing oil, cabin filters, tires. My step-brother Finn just started, so far this summer I've just been training him in. If he forgets to tighten the lug nuts up one more time I think I'm going to have to brain him with a wrench." Kurt laughed awkwardly and Blaine gave him a grim smile in response.

"So, you actually… work on the cars?"

Blaine wondered how on earth he hadn't seen this conversation coming and tried not to feel too humiliated on Kurt's behalf, then reminded himself that he might be making this worse in his head. Kurt's dad had been shocked that Blaine knew what a carburetor was after all.

But that had obviously been because Blaine walked in looking like a spoiled, prissy, private school boy, not because Blaine had walked in looking gay.

"Yeah, since I was little," Kurt nodded and took a bite of his steak. "My mom used to take me to the shop to have lunch with my dad, and then after she passed, my dad would just bring me to work with him. I was changing tires by the time I was ten."

His father nodded, Kurt shot Blaine a look he didn't really understand and said, "Blaine says that the two of you rebuilt a '59 Chevy?"

"Oh. Right. Little bit of a classic car phase. Thing was so damn long we didn't have a place to keep it though."

Kurt chuckled, but he was the only one at the table who did. He went back to cutting his steak for a moment before looking up at Blaine's mother.

"So… Blaine says you just redecorated the house. What did you use as your inspiration?"

Blaine's mom shrugged. "Oh, I just told the decorator to make it lighter. It used to look like a cigar bar."

"Oh," Kurt replied, and took a sip of his milk.

Blaine desperately tried to think of anything at all that would keep the conversation going, and absolutely nothing came to mind. Kurt gave him a slightly pleading look, and all Blaine managed to do was open his mouth and close it again.

The silence was mercifully broken by Blaine's father, who wiped his face with his napkin, cleared his throat and began a completely boring recap of his lunch meeting with Mr. Shore, and his hope that they could mutually make some sort of dull business thing work out.

Kurt offered to help with the dishes, and Blaine's mother told him not to worry about it. Blaine insisted that they at least help clear the table.

He wasn't surprised when his father refilled his wine glass and disappeared to the study to "catch up on work". He _was_ surprised when he found out that for the first time in months his mother hadn't put something together for dessert. She cited a lack of time and an imaginary diet, but Blaine knew it had just been a way to shorten this whole ordeal. He wavered between offended and relieved for a moment, but settled on relieved as he ushered Kurt out toward his car and their escape back to the Hudmel's house.

* * *

><p>Dave wasn't sure why he was still holding Santana's hand. He'd grabbed it when they'd left his house to go for a walk, but they were easily a mile away from the house, the sun was starting to set, and there was absolutely no one around. She swung their hands between them as they walked through the park near his house in companiable silence.<p>

"So…your family seems nice."

"Thanks."

"Like… really nice," Santana said, kicking a rock out of their way.

"Yeah. Well. I've never had a girlfriend before. They were really excited to meet you."

"Why did you get so freaked out about talking to them about colleges?"

Dave sighed and started guiding Santana toward the playground. "Remember what you said about not buying a flat top and eating jimaca until junior college?"

Santana rolled her eyes and wrapped her free hand around herself as she sat down on one of the playground platforms.

"And about me, getting married and needing to get drunk to be with my wife and… tapping my foot?"

"I'm sorry about that," Santana started, "I was just-"

"No. You were right," Dave said. "The only thing that helps me with being terrified all the time is you, us pretending like this. I think…. I think I'm going to lose it if I don't deal with this eventually. And you were right, we can't do it in high school, we can't do it here… but it's not like we're going to go off to college _together_ and if I'm ever going to deal with his it can't be in Ohio. Or Nebraska. College is… college is my one chance to move somewhere safe." He dropped down next to her. "Somewhere too far away for my parents to ever know what I was doing…. Maybe I could deal with it then."

Santana tightened her grip on his hand. "Have you ever thought about telling your parents?"

"Santana-"

"No, I know. They never talk about it, you don't know what they think about it. But… they seem… they seem like good parents. And you said that your father said something about it taking years to realize that it wasn't wrong."

"But he said that to Kurt's dad. And I don't know if you've seen Kurt's dad angry or not, but it's like staring into hell."

Santana nodded. "It's your brother isn't it? You're afraid of how he would react."

"I can't even tell my parents that I'm not going to apply to UNO. I've got look books for colleges in California and Maine and Oregon hidden under my mattress."

"You didn't answer me."

Dave dropped her hand and she curled up against one of the beams on the side of the platform. He turned to face her and spread his legs out in front of him, looking at his shoes rather than at her.

"Mark's a star football player, he actually did really well in school. He's going for his MBA. My parents are really proud of him. The Titan's haven't done well since he left. I couldn't even get onto the team until he'd been gone long enough for them to get desperate."

"Does he have a girlfriend?"

"He's doing the college hook up thing right now. He dated cheerleaders in high school."

"He's an asshole, Dave."

Dave laughed mirthlessly. "Yeah. I know." He dropped his head back against the beam he was leaning against. "Who do you think I've been pretending to be for the last couple years?"

Santana leaned forward a little bit, grabbing his hand and letting it slide out of her grip as she leaned back, so that her fingers tips were set over the top of his finger tips.

"Is he going to give you a hard time about the play thing and the glee talk tonight?"

"Oh yeah."

Santana patted his finger tips. "You can tell him I blew you."

"I don't know. Could I have… you know… gotten my hand in your pants or something instead?"

"It's called 'fingering', Dave," Santana smirked at him. "And it's not going to impress your douche bag brother."

"It's just… you could give me a pretty accurate description of, you know, touching your boobs, and you could give me a pretty accurate description of … having my hand there. But what if you tell me something about… what it feels like to get blown and Mark's like… 'what the hell, dude, that's totally wrong'?"

"We've been pretending to date for way too long for us to have only gotten that far."

"Seriously?"

"Clearly you don't listen to anything anyone says in the locker room. We should be pretending to have sex by now."

"It's so weird that you've had sex with guys," Dave said, shaking his head.

"I was a cheerleader." Santana shrugged.

"Still just… no offense, but I seriously don't think I could handle…"

"Me?" Santana raised an eyebrow at him.

"Like… actually putting my mouth there. On you. Sorry. I don't know how you ever did it with a bunch of guys. Sorry. Again."

"You want to know another secret?" Santana sighed.

"I don't know. Do I?"

"It was only Puck. I've made out with a shit ton of guys, there were some fingering, hand-job exchanges, but the only people I've ever actually had sex with are Puck and Brittany. And Puck likes to think he's a badass, and he's a total man slut, but he was always careful with me. If I was going to… late in life gay it- it would have been with him."

Dave sighed and scooted down against the beam behind him a little further, grabbing Santana's finger tips in his palm. "So… did you blow me out here, in the middle of the park, or did this happen up at lover's lane?"

"Probably out here. It would have had to be after dark though, so we should stay out a little longer."

"What was it… like?" Dave asked, his shoulders tensing up a little.

Santana tapped her foot against the beam in front of her. "I don't know. Wet. Warm. Amazing. How much detail do you really think your brother can ask for before it gets weird anyway?"

"Oh. Yeah. No. You're right."

They sat in silence for a moment, Dave running his thumb over Santana's finger tips until she flexed them and he started to pull his hand back to his own side. Santana stopped him, holding his fingers now.

"Do you want me to tell you what it's like to do it?"

His heart jumped. "What?"

Santana shrugged again, listlessly. "I can tell you that. So you don't go off to your magical liberal college land unprepared."

His mouth went dry and his first instinct was to say-shout-hiss no. No, of course he didn't want to know what it was like to do that.

But… really he was desperately curious. He'd seen videos. He'd listened to the locker room talk about being on the receiving end. He'd wondered.

And it was just Santana.

"Um… okay," he whispered. She gave him a soft sort of look and sat up, so that their faces were closer, so that she could whisper too and started telling him things about salt on skin and weight on your tongue and how your jaw got sore.

He made her stop when he started to… react and got freaked out. She just stopped talking, grabbed his hand, and waited for him to suggest they walk back to his house.

* * *

><p>"Are you okay?" Kurt asked as Blaine pulled back into his driveway.<p>

"Am I okay? Are you okay?" Blaine huffed, throwing the car into park.

"Blaine, believe it or not, worse things than awkward silence could have happened." Kurt reached out for Blaine's hand, but he tugged it away and set it to his temple.

"That's not what I meant. My father was… ruder than I thought he'd be with you and they weren't exactly welcoming."

"Blaine? When I told you I could change tires and oil and cabin filters your eyebrows shot up so high they almost got gel on them. It's a reaction that I'm used to."

"But you know that I was surprised for different reasons than my father's reasons."

"It doesn't matter. They met me. I exist. We exist."

"It's not enough, Kurt!" Blaine hissed. "I just… me eating dinner with your family was never even a big deal. Your dad just…" Blaine dropped his head to his steering wheel.

"He what?"

"After you told your dad that we were dating, he just asked me to stay for dinner like two days later. Like it wasn't even a big deal. And Carol hugged me and they treated me like your boyfriend."

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"I don't know what I want you to say either. I'm sorry," Blaine slumped back against his seat. "I'm just… I thought it was fine. When my friend Taylor came out his parents… they did everything but kick him out. And he told me he was pretty sure that the only reason they didn't do that was because it was right after… he came out right after Sadie Hawkins. He kind of had too. And my parents were never happy about it, but… they didn't totally freak out like Taylor's did, and I thought I was lucky and your dad and Carol, and Finn just… I'm just… I'm embarrassed that I can't… I can't act the same way around my family as I do around yours, and I'm so, so jealous of your family."

Kurt reached out and grabbed Blaine's hand off the steering wheel.

"Carol made cupcakes for Finn's dinner with Rachel. Dad knows he isn't supposed to have one, Rachel won't eat them, and Finn will feel too guilty about forgetting the stupid vegan thing to have more than three. Come inside, have dessert, and I'll share my family with you. Okay?"

Blaine set his head against the steering wheel again, took a breath and sat back up.

"Can I open your door for you?"

"Yeah."

Blaine unbuckled his seat belt and Kurt watched him climb out of the car and hurry around it. He opened the door, which was, as he'd explained on an earlier date, polite and thus acceptable, but didn't help Kurt out of the car, because as Kurt had explained on an earlier date, the reason men did that was to help women in dresses and Kurt was neither of those things. Adapting the moves Blaine had carefully culled from 1950's romantic comedies to their relationship sometimes required that type of negotiation.

Blaine closed the car door behind Kurt, and sighed. "Just, before we go in…"

He leaned forward and kissed Kurt, backing him up against the car in a way that was more like being carefully leaned against it rather than being sexily shoved back.

Kurt let himself be moved back, and set one hand to Blaine's cheek and the other against his neck, letting Blaine take whatever he needed to be less upset right now.

"Boys."

Blaine jumped back at the sound of Kurt's father's voice, but Kurt didn't move his hand from Blaine's neck, even when he looked up and saw how mad his dad actually looked.

"Inside. Now."


	12. Give the Guy A Chance

The schedule was the hardest part of wrestling camp. Early mornings, late nights. The midday nap was nice but usually got interrupted by some kind of camper scuffle.

Lauren had cashed in a favor to get an hour long nap in today and yawned hugely as her alarm sounded the end of it. She'd gotten less sleep than usual, but since she'd finally sorted out Puckerman's two week silence, she felt better.

She really should have thought of leaving a threatening message earlier. It would have saved the last two weeks of… not worrying. Having concerns about how stupid her boyfriend was.

Though, after spending half an hour on the phone with him last night she was still worried about how stupid Puck was. Wherever he had called her from had been loud. The one time the buzz of voices and music behind Puck had quieted she'd heard a male voice behind him shouting, "Fuck THAT! Pabst Blue Ribbon!" which couldn't possibly bode well.

Lauren shrugged on a jacket, and headed to the mess hall for dinner, figuring that at least none of the voices had sounded female.

Not that she was worried.

Or jealous.

Not about Puckerman anyway.

Pfff.

* * *

><p>Kurt kept his hands at Blaine's neck, refusing to let him pull away.<p>

His dad didn't get to be weird about a little bit of French kissing in the driveway. Not after Finn had tried to suck Rachel's tongue out of her mouth in the foyer on Saturday night. Not after the awful dinner he and Blaine had just had. Not when they both just needed him to be a Good Dad right now.

"What did we do wrong?" Kurt demanded, tightening his grip, just slightly, on Blaine's neck.

"Failed to educate your father on the politics of small town community theater. In the house. Now," he said, slapping his hand against the door frame as he stomped back inside.

Blaine tugged away and started toward the door. Kurt grabbed his hand and forced him to walk in at a reasonable pace.

"Kitchen," his dad called as the door shut behind them.

They walked into the kitchen, where his father was pacing a few steps back and forth in front of the kitchen island and Carol was leaning against the counter.

"Sit."

Blaine dropped into a chair like a puppy on the last day of obedience school. Kurt slunk into the chair next to him and looked up at his still steaming father.

"Why did I just find out from Rachel that Karofsky's in the play?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Because Rachel has a big mouth?"

"The kid who's been harassing you all year just happens to follow you into your summer stuff and you don't say anything about it?"

Kurt looked at Blaine, who look back with his big "I need your dad to like me eyes" that Kurt had been getting sick of and now understood better than he would have preferred to. He turned back to his father. "Okay. Look. I understand and appreciate everyone's concern. But I can handle this."

"Like you handled it last time?" His father demanded.

"It's different now."

"Kurt, he threatened to-"

"I know what he did," Kurt said, voice forceful, but not quite loud. Blaine wrapped his arms around himself. "Okay? I know. And things have changed. There's Bullywhips to consider, and the wrath of Santana to take into account. He apologized to me. Everything's been better at school. It's not as bad as it sounds and I didn't mention it because I didn't want you to freak out for no reason."

"What does some jock want to be in the play for anyway?" His dad huffed.

"Finn wanted to be in the play," Blaine answered quietly.

His dad leaned over the chair at the head of the table, took his hat off and rubbed a hand over his scalp. "Fine. What does a jerk like Karofsky want to be in the play for?"

"I don't know, and it doesn't matter. I'm not going to let the Karofsky's of the world dictate my life."

"Kurt… I want you to be who you want to be. But you have to be safe. You both have to be safe."

Blaine bit his lip and leaned further back in his chair. Kurt let his posture relax a little bit. He didn't want to keep having this argument. Karofsky wasn't an issue as long as he had Santana, he didn't want his dad to worry about him, and the longer this went on the more he was beginning to wonder if Karofsky was really worth lying to his father for this long. "Dad, I don't have to run from David this time."

His dad turned to Blaine. "Blaine, help me out here."

Blaine looked from Kurt to his father, confused.

"Burt!" Carol muttered warningly from the counter.

"We're on the same page right, Blaine?"

Wide eyed realization dawned on Blaine's face as he realized what Kurt's father was talking about. Kurt squawked indignantly.

"Dad, stop this now. You are completely out of line."

His father's face fell into the lines that always preceded an "in my house" speech, but softened. He put his hands up.

"Mr. Hummel," Blaine started in his most polite, talking-to-people-who-might-lose-it voice. "I think you and Kurt both have valid points. I think it might possibly be naïve, sorry, for Kurt to trust Karofsky, but if he's ever going to change, then someone has to give him the opportunity to change."

"And you agree with Kurt? That you should _give the guy a chance?_" He stressed the last part strangely, and Blaine moved his gaze a little more squarely to his face.

"We'll never be alone with him. Either of us. We'll walk out to our cars with Mercedes and Rachel."

"And you will tell me if anything happens. If he gives either of you so much as a weird look, I expect a phone call."

"If anything happens, we will tell you," Blaine said solemnly.

"And we will eat our vegetables and wash behind our ears and look both ways before crossing the street," Kurt tacked on impatiently.

"Kurt, don't be a smartass about this. I am dead serious. If you two aren't going to keep yourselves safe I am going to take steps to keep you both safe."

"Burt… they know," Carol sighed, frustrated. "Okay? They get it. They need to be careful. But…Finn said the same thing. Something happened. Karofsky…. I don't know what Finn thought it was, but things are different. Okay? Can we stop with this now?"

His father crossed his arms for a moment, grabbed the chair he'd been leaning on and pulled it out. Carol stood behind him.

"How was dinner boys?" she asked, her tone tender and apologetic.

Kurt shrugged, still peeved with his father and not quite sure what to say. Only just beginning to worry about what Finn thought was going on.

"Umm… awkward," Blaine replied, the uber polite private school kid thing fading a little as the mood shifted from interrogation to conversation with an unsteady thump like the transmission was starting to go. "It didn't go as well as I was hoping."

Kurt shrugged. "The food was good."

"Yes. The food was good," Blaine agreed, with closed eyes and a little shake of his head. "The conversation was lacking. They were… uncomfortable."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Carol said. "I don't suppose you boys want cupcakes?"

The way Blaine smiled at Carol made something in Kurt go warm.

"That would be lovely."

"Kurt, I made a few without frosting for you."

"Thank you, Carol."

Carol gave them both a tight smile and turned to the cupboard, pulling out bowls and spoons, then cupcakes. As she went to the freezer Finn walked into the kitchen, holding a box with his eyebrows knitted.

"Hi, honey," Carol said, "What are you doing home so early?"

"Oh, Rachel was making some vegan food and I wanted to leave before she made me eat any of it. I talked to the Mr. Berrys for a little while though. I might go over to their house for dinner next week."

"You want a cupcake?" Carol said, setting bowls in front of Kurt and Blaine. "What's with the box?"

Finn shifted the box from one hand to the other. "It was on the steps. Umm… it's for Blaine."

"For me?" Blaine asked.

"Uh. Yeah," Finn set the box on the table and slid it between Blaine and Kurt, where they could both read the address scrawled across it in sharpie.

_To Blaine Warbler_

_(Or Kurt Hummel, but don't open it)_

_638 Hillcrest Drive (or maybe Lane)_

_Lima, Ohio 45801_

The return address was scrunched into the wrong corner like an afterthought.

_Noah Puckerman_

_The Road_

* * *

><p>Santana had been losing a staring contest with her computer all night. She'd thought she had bested it by flipping on itunes and reading some Perez Hilton, but that hadn't worked. She gone tried to catch up "Pretty Little Liars" but had zoned out. Finally she had given up, slammed her computer shut and cleaned her room.<p>

But when all of her dirty underwear had been thrown in the hamper and the last remnants of school work had been recycled or tucked away to be forgotten about until September, she still had three unread emails from Brittany in her inbox and they were still all she could think about.

She dropped onto her bed, grabbed her phone and scrolled through her contacts, purposefully ignoring the little browser button. Artie Wheels… Brit-Brit…David Karofsky. She paused, thumb hover over the call button for a moment before she remembered that Dave had been hauled off to a "Guys Night Out." He and his father and his brother were all out to baseball game. Dave had been a little freaked out about why. Apparently baseball wasn't a Karofsky family favorite and he was worried it had something to do with all the talk about the musical.

He'd probably call later to hang out up at Lover's Lane where they could talk about it. Santana smiled, just a little bitterly, to herself. Sometimes it felt like she and Dave were really dating. And worse, he was actually a pretty good boyfriend. Absolutely better than any of the others.

She kept scrolling. Past Finn and a couple of Cheerios that didn't talk to her anymore. She scrolled past the "Lady-Face" entry, felt bad about it, changed it to "Kurt" and tossed the phone own on the bed spread. She grabbed her computer and opened her email.

The first email was a mass send. It was a bunch of pictures of Iceland sent to Santana and Quinn and some of Brittany's aunts and cousins.

The second was just to her.

_Iceland isn't cold. I went shopping in my sundress today. You would love shopping in Iceland. How cute are these?_

There were three pictures of blouses in a cute little boutique that were pretty much exactly Santana's style.

Santana sighed. Brit really did have an eye for that sort of thing. She and Kurt could join forces and take over the world.

There was one last email. Santana dithered for a moment about whether or not opening it would make the hollow feeling in her chest worse, then clicked it open.

It was only addressed to her, and it was only one line.

_I miss you._

* * *

><p>Kurt, Finn and Mr. Hummel all watched the box on the table as though expecting it to explode. Blaine was just grateful that it hadn't come to his house. His mother had a tendency to open his mail and <em>then <em>give it to him, and the more he learned about Puck the more he was beginning to worry about Puck having his cell phone number, let alone his address.

"Dude, open it," Finn said quietly, staring at the box.

"Umm… kay. Do you have-" Mr. Hummel, who was looking at the box less intently than Finn, but with about as much worry as Kurt, silently handed Blaine a pocket knife. Blaine pushed his ice cream and cupcake bowl away and pulled the box toward him before carefully slicing it open. It was full of what looked like thin gas station toilet paper and he reached in and pulled a wad out, then another. His hand brushed something soft and he pinched it between his fingers, carefully extracting a mutely green scarf, with a little airplane on the corner.

"Puck sent you a scarf?" Finn asked dubiously.

"Puck sent you a silk Givenchy scarf?" Kurt asked.

"Puck sent it here?" Mr. Hummel said.

Kurt held his hand out and Blaine gave him the scarf and dug back into the box.

"Oh my god it's real, look at the stitching," Kurt said at the same time Blaine added, "Hey, there's a note."

Underneath the toilet paper was a napkin that had been folded in half, but had fallen open.

"Blaine Warbler," Blaine sighed, "Why don't any of your friends know my last name?"

"Wait, Warbler isn't your last name?" Finn asked. Blaine shook his head and continued reading.

"Blaine Warbler, you totally changed my life and I wanted to send you something from my adventures as a thank you. I don't know you that well, so I don't really know what you're into, besides Kurt. So I stole this scarf for you to give him so that" Blaine's eyes got ahead of his mouth and he stopped.

"So that what?" Kurt said, peering over his shoulder. Blaine crumpled the napkin in his hand.

"Nothing."

Finn, who Blaine realized knew Puck better than anyone, also went wide eyed and silent.

Mr. Hummel looked between the guilty faces, sighed, and rubbed his head.

"If you guys forget this happened, I will."

Blaine and Finn nodded in agreement.

Kurt huffed petulantly. "Why is Puck sending you stolen couture?"

"Do you know where he is?" Finn demanded. "Cause he disappeared like a week ago."

"Ummm… not exactly."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I don't actually know where he is… but I have a good guess at what he's doing," Blaine said guiltily.

"And what is your good guess is?" Mr. Hummel asked.

"Umm," Blaine unfolded the napkin. "There's a quote down at the bottom of the note."

"A quote?"

"It's umm…" Blaine cleared his throat. "'A pain stabbed my heart, as it did every time I saw a girl I loved who was going the opposite direction in this too-big world.'"

"What does that mean?" Finn asked, his brow wrinkled deeply.

"It's from "On the Road"," Blaine said. Kurt groaned and understanding began to seep into Mr. Hummel's confused face.

"He was really upset about Lauren leaving for Oregon, and I told him that he should try to take his mind off of it, so I leant him "On The Road"."

"And then he disappeared," Finn supplied.

Mr. Hummel closed his eyes and nodded, defeatedly. "So Puckerman's somewhere between Ohio and Oregon."

"Shoplifting his way west," Kurt added.

Carol shook her head. "I'll go call his mom."

"I didn't think this is how he would react," Blaine explained hurriedly. "I'm sorry."

"Have you heard from him?" Finn asked, grabbing the box and pulling the rest of the toilet paper out of it.

"He's sent me a couple of texts, but I… I thought he was just being weird. Do you want me to try calling him?"

"He never answers and his voicemail's all creeptic."

"Cryptic," Kurt corrected automatically.

"Text him again, tell him we're worried we need to know where the hell he is," Finn said.

Blaine texted Puck and tucked his phone into his pocket, dislodging the napkin, which he dove to recover.

"Is there anything else in the box? A letter or another napkin or anything?" Mr. Hummel asked as Finn pulled the scraps of toilet paper through his hands.

"Check the post mark," Kurt suggested.

Mr. Hummel took the box from Finn and squinted at it for a minute. "Milwaukee. That's only 6 hours from here. He's been gone for what? A week?"

"Maybe two?" Finn said.

Blaine's phone dinged from his pocket. He pulled it out, read the text and sighed. "Puck says, 'I left with my canvas bag in which a few fundamental things were packed and took off for the Pacific Ocean with the fifty dollars in my pocket.'"

"That doesn't sound like Puck." Finn said crossing his arms.

"It's another quote from the book."

Finn threw his head back in an exasperated way that was very reminiscent of Kurt. Under other circumstances Blaine would have found it endearing. Finn brought his head back down and shot Blaine a very accusatory look.

"You _had_ to give him a_ book_."

"Okay. That's enough weirdness for tonight," Mr. Hummel declared. "You boys go… do whatever. Blaine, if you hear from Puck again, let us know."

Blaine nodded, grabbed Kurt's hand and led him back up to his bedroom, dropping onto Kurt's bed. Kurt stayed by the door.

"What did the note say?"

"Umm…"

"Blaine?"

Blaine fished it out of his pocket and read it over again, "I don't know you that well, so I don't really know what you're into, besides Kurt. So I stole this scarf for you to give him so that," he cleared his throat and took a second run at it, "for you to give him so that he'll put out. Or you could jerk him off with it. Santana did that to me with a silk tie one time and it was awesome. Love, Puck."

Kurt looked at the scarf, and let most of it tumble out of his hand, so that it was pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

"And this goes in the dry clean pile," Kurt sighed, dropping it into his hamper on his way to shutting the door. Blaine raised his eyebrows at him, but Kurt just shrugged, and crossed back to the window, which he threw open.

"I'm really sorry about my dad," he sighed.

"Why?"

"Trying to bring up Sadie Hawkins wasn't right."

Blaine sat up and grabbed Kurt's hand. "He's just worried about you. To him Karofsky is just… this bogeyman. A guy who threatened to kill you just because of who you are. He's got no way of understanding how the situation has changed." He tugged Kurt closer, so that Kurt was standing between his legs, and he was eye level with Kurt's navel.

"That doesn't give him the right to bring that into this. To corner you like that."

Blaine set his chin against Kurt's stomach, just because he could. "He's your father. He's scared. It's fine."

"It's not fine."

"Remember when my father assumed that you were the receptionist, even after I'd told him what you actually do at your dad's shop? That wasn't fine. Your dad just cares about you. About us, actually. Me too. It's fine."

"Fine." Kurt said, with a little bit of an edge still in his voice as he pulled away to go and straighten some of his creams and hair products on his vanity that didn't need straightening.

Blaine laid back on Kurt's bed again, his exhaustion from earlier beginning to seep back in.

"Kurt?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah."

"Have you considered just telling your dad the truth?"

* * *

><p>Finn stopped in front of Kurt's closed door for a moment, took a bite out of one of his cupcakes and decided to let it go. Drawing attention to Kurt's closed door was not going to help his own quest to get private time with Rachel, and being jealous that Kurt even had a reason to close his door when Finn was never ever going to be allowed to touch Rachel below the waist would force him to think about what Kurt and Blaine might actually do behind a closed door, which he could do without when he was trying to eat a cupcake, no matter how many times he'd scouted for Kurt and Blaine, or how many times he'd told Kurt that they could talk about it bro to bro.<p>

Finn walked to his own room, set his plate of cupcakes on his nightstand and dropped bodily into his bed, letting the cool breeze from his window shift over his sticky skin.

He was a little worried that he might be jealous of Puck crediting Blaine with whatever big stupid adventure he was off on. Rachel was going to go to New York. Kurt was going to go to New York. Blaine was going to go to New York… if anyone wasn't supposed to leave Finn behind it was Puck. And he'd already sort of lost Puck to Lauren.

He was being stupid. He was just worried about Puck. Stealing clothes for Kurt had to be dangerous. Finn had been lectured at enough about how much Kurt's clothes cost. Puck already had a record.

Finn rolled onto his back and reached for his cupcake.

"Remember …. my father ….. the receptionist, even after I'd told him what you actually do at your dad's shop? That wasn't fine. Your dad just ….. About us, actually. Me too…."

He could hear Blaine through his window. It had been so hot so far this summer that he and Kurt had never had their windows open. Finn sat up in surprise.

Kurt said something in response, but his voice was high and soft and harder to hear, so Finn didn't catch what it was.

"Kurt?"

Again Finn didn't hear Kurt's response.

"Can I ask you a question? Have you considered just telling your dad the truth?"

Finn moved closer to the window.

"The truth about what?" Kurt asked.

"The truth about what happened with Karofsky."

Kurt snorted. Finn took another step toward the window.

"Umm… yes. I've thought about it, but no, I can't do it."

"Look, I know you don't think it's your place to say anything, and I get that. I'm onboard. But this is your dad."

"I know. And he's great. And I love him and… it's not always easy… but I know how lucky I am… but I don't think I can impress upon him how important it is to keep this a secret. And the more people who know, the more likely it is that everyone will find out. I can't do that to him. I need David to come out on his own. Too many people already know."

Finn knelt down by his window. So. He'd been right about Karofsky being gay. How the hell had Kurt known? Was it a gaydar thing? Is that why Blaine knew?"

"You. Me. Who else?" Blaine asked, then continued. "Right. Santana. Right. Duh."

"And we're all safe. But… let's say I tell my dad. And he tells Carol. And they run into the Karofsky's at a PTA thing and it just slips out. Let's say Carol tells Finn. Finn'll tell Rachel. Game over. Or Finn accidently says something to Puck and then Lauren puts up posters. Carol accidently mentions it when Mercedes is over."

"Okay. Yeah. I get it. Mercedes tells Sam. Game over."

"Actually-and this is too bad-David probably could've trusted Sam. Sam's best friend growing up was gay. That's why he's always been so cool."

Finn nearly dropped his head onto his window sill. No wonder Sam had always thought Finn was such a tool. Though… he had kind of been a tool with the whole… beware of Kurt thing.

"Oh. Huh. Well… still. I think your Dad will understand. It would make him feel better, and I think you could trust him. It's not like he'd tell Rachel. Neither would Carol."

"But they'd want to know how I know," Finn pressed his ear to the screen, wishing Kurt's voice was just a little lower.

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

"And he'll-"

"Have another heart attack if he finds out that the guy that's harassed me for years threatened to kill me because he was afraid that I'd tell people that he grabbed me and kissed me and I had to throw him off?" Kurt said, his voice getting farther away as he talked. "Pretty much."

Finn felt a wave of complete disgust roil through his stomach.

He hadn't known. He hadn't really thought about it that hard. He'd been mean to Karofsky for a while… but more or less forgiven him when he thought there had been a chance to get him to come over to the glee side of things. He'd tried to bring him to Dalton to apologize to Kurt. He'd tried to put them in the same room again.

Ugh. He'd let Karfosky walk Kurt around school.

What the hell kind of brother was he?

A blast of music sounded loudly and Finn jumped back from the window in surprise.

"Shit. It's my dad." Blaine sighed. Finn had never heard Blaine swear.

"Are you going to answer it?"

"I have to." He groaned, then his voice came back polite and careful, "Hello?"

Finn told himself that he'd eavesdropped enough for the night, but didn't manage to pull away from the window.

"Oh… Mr. Gustafson's son?... No I hadn't thought about Swarthmore….I could sleep in till almost 6:30 then… umm… you know actually… Kurt and I were going to put in a movie. Well… I know… but I was at the club all weekend… maybe later in the week… but my curfew isn't until 11:00…right. Goodnight." Blaine's voice shifted back to the comfortable, normal tone he used when he was talking to Kurt. "You know, he could at least pretend that he's thinking about something besides getting me away from you. I know for a fact that he has two racquetball partners with kids an NYU. Have I gotten dragged out to play genteel sports with them? No."

"Thank you for making me go to your house in my normal clothes. I'm sorry it didn't go as well as you had hoped."

Finn listened for a little bit longer, wondered why he couldn't hear them talking anymore, then figured it out. He shut the window carefully, pretty sure they didn't notice when it squeaked.


	13. Mostly It's Just You

_Author's Note: I thought I already had chapter 13 written, and it was the big scene that I wrote before I wrote a story to put that chapter in, and it turned out that I needed a little more build and a little more set up. Then after I wrote that chapter (which is next) I wrote another big event that I love and figured out how the story ends. _

_That said- Glee starts up agin in two weeks and there is nothing in the world I hate more than getting jossed. I've never written in an ongoing fandom before and did not anticipate the irk factor. There is a good chance that I'm going to try to just keep pumping out chapters, but I finally got a new job (three actually, all of which I'm going to keep for the time being cause I am poor) so we'll see how that goal goes. I have most of the end written, it's just th bridge, which I've proven I suck at. _

_Also, this chapter edges into M territory_

* * *

><p>Ugh.<p>

Couples.

Love.

Lovey-Dovey ness.

_Gross,_ Jesse thought to himself as he gathered his stuff up after practice. If he'd known so much of the cast was dating he would have done something about it. He wasn't sure what, but something. This hallway was like some sort of carnival horror house.

The big dumb jock who had been handed an almost perfect baritone and didn't have the training to do anything about it was talking to the ludicrously beautiful Latina girl, smiling at her in a way that was somehow smitten and somehow not. Like he'd won a huge expensive prize and didn't have a place for it. Jesse had wondered about the two of them briefly before deciding that since neither of them seemed to be close with Rachel, anything that was happening between them was immaterial. He was beginning to suspect that Rachel hated the jock though, so he would have to keep an ear out to see if he could catch the gossip on why.

The two gay kids were talking quietly together, the swishier one swinging his keys in his hand in a way that challenged Jesse's perception of how limp his wrists might be, the one who played Tony looking at him with a smile that was as utterly ridiculous as his hairstyle as he set a hand on the other one's waist.

Even that lazy black girl with the amazing voice and the aversion to choreography was slipping her hand into some blond guy's as they walked out the door together.

And Rachel was nowhere to be found.

This sucked.

It wasn't bad enough that he was in _Ohio_, living with his _parents_, who seemed to think that he should just get a job at _Target_, he couldn't even get _girls_ anymore. High school girls had just wanted him to be cute and a good singer, college girls had just wanted someone with a single room, and now out in the real world they all wanted like… money and for him to have a good job and his own place.

Ugh. Girls were so shallow.

* * *

><p>"I mentioned that this was a good idea, right?" Blaine whispered.<p>

"You did. I'm brilliant. Kiss me," Kurt instructed.

Blaine laughed, but complied, settling his hand at Kurt's hip and feeling his way up Kurt's body.

Kurt had been looking for ways for he and Blaine to be alone together since the incident where he'd almost let Blaine touch him and then shoved his hands away. He was mentally working up to it. There just hadn't been a chance to physically work up to it. He'd spent the weekend going through his wardrobe while Blaine was forced to play tennis, his father had been "forgetting his lunch" every day this week, Finn's schedule was getting erratic, and even Carol was starting to get the occasional afternoon free. It was maddening.

And then, as they left rehearsal, Blaine had complained about his father making him trim the front hedges and had mentioned the fact that it didn't matter because no one was ever outside in his neighborhood anyway, and he'd never even met any of the neighbors.

So this morning, when Kurt had picked Blaine up for coffee, he had made a suggestion for somewhere they could go together after rehearsal.

And here they were, with the back seats of the Navigator folded down so that they could lie down, one street down from Blaine's house, under a burned out streetlight in almost total darkness. Kurt had even thrown a couple of pillows and a blanket back here. It was a little suburban homeless chic, but it was working.

"Mmm, you are such a good kisser," Blaine sighed happily, running his hand up into Kurt's hair.

"You too," Kurt murmured. He shifted his arm up so that he could move more of his weight across Blaine's body, and rocked down. Blaine's head rolled back and he moaned.

Kurt _loved_ that. Blaine's reaction was almost better than the way it made him feel. He did it again and Blaine's hand moved from his side to his back, the hand in his hair twisting and tugging a little bit in a way that made Kurt gasp too.

Blaine pushed up into him and after a few moments they had a rhythm going, steady and warm and good, but slow enough that neither of them was actually going to come, even though Blaine's kissing was already starting to get a little sloppy.

This was good, Kurt thought. This was comfortable. Blaine, warm and breathless underneath him, just beginning to get hard enough that Kurt could feel him. That was okay, encouraging and sexy, and still safe because this was Blaine. Blaine, with his Katy Perry obsession and his Gryffindor blanket and his inability to hold his wine coolers. Blaine he was in love with, and Blaine who loved him back.

Blaine made a sound in the back of his throat, and dug his hands into Kurt's back a little bit. Kurt arched into the feeling, a little surprised at himself.

_Okay. More._

Kurt shifted his weight up to his other hand, pressing hard into Blaine again as he did, then moved his other hand up Blaine's torso, then back down, then under his shirt and up. Blaine seized up for a second, and then it was over, like it hadn't happened. Blaine moved his own hands down Kurt's body, and slowly tugged a section of Kurt's shirt out of his jeans.

"Kurt?"

"Yes. It's fine."

Blaine pulled another length of shirt out of Kurt's jeans, slowly and carefully lifting piece by piece out so that he could slide both hands over Kurt's back. They were warm and wide and rougher than his own, rougher than he'd expected from Blaine. He loved when Blaine surprised him by being more boyish than he'd thought he was. Blaine swooped his palms up Kurt's back, slipped them down to finish pulling Kurt's shirt out of his jeans, then swooped them all the way up to Kurt's shoulders tracing his fingers back and forth over Kurt's shoulder blades. Kurt mentally congratulated himself on picking out this button down instead of the tighter scoop neck long sleeve shirt he had been considering.

They kissed and rubbed together, Kurt's hands on Blaine's stomach, ticking against the hair there, Blaine's hands on Kurt's back, rubbing and kneading, gripping harder whenever Blaine started making little noises into Kurt's mouth.

Kurt let his hands wander down Blaine's sides and over his hips. Blaine's breathing got just a little heavier as Kurt moved from Blaine's hips to the outside of his thighs, to his knees back to his waist, then back up again.

Blaine followed the movement of Kurt's hands, lifting his thighs up. Kurt whined, Blaine moaned and wrapped one leg around Kurt's waist, the sudden change in angle and pressure all it took for them to go from heated making out to frantic rutting.

"Blaine," Kurt managed in a broken tone he couldn't believe was coming from his throat.

"Me too," Blaine replied in a rough voice. Blaine reached down and tried to slide a hand underneath the back of Kurt's jeans. Kurt made a little sound of protest. Blaine stopped.

"No," Kurt breathed. He still needed his jeans, he still needed that barrier. Blaine soothed a hand apologetically over the small of Kurt's back and slowed his hips.

"But, hey, no, don't stop," Kurt added, rocking back down.

"Oh, God, Kurt, so close," Blaine breathed.

A horrible shriek wreaked into the sound of panting and shuffling, startling Kurt right off of Blaine.

Blaine groaned, with disappointment instead of arousal this time, and rolled over to grab his phone and dismiss the alarm, then collapsed face first into the seat of the Navigator.

"Shit," he gulped. Kurt shivered. Blaine never swore.

"Two minutes until I have to be home." He lifted his torso up and dropped his head into his hands. "This is better," he muttered, "We'd never have been able to clean up in time. This is better."

"We are doing this again," Kurt breathed, willing his body to calm down.

"Carol and your dad work tomorrow right?"

"Right."

"That thought is not helping me calm down."

"And we don't have rehearsal. We can have the whole day together, and we'll make dinner. I have a spinach thing that looks like it takes hours but doesn't. It's the perfect cover," Kurt heard himself talking, but wasn't sure if he was making sense. If he'd gotten his pants off he probably wouldn't have cared about Blaine's stupid alarm, or Blaine's stupid curfew.

Blaine blew out a careful, controlled breath, rolled back over and started smoothing down his clothes. Kurt did the same with a lot less success, but he had more time.

"How do I look?" Blaine asked.

"Your hair looks like," _like you've been squirming on your back while I try to get you off_, Kurt thought before blowing out a similar steadying breath, getting up on his knees and scooting over to Blaine.

He smoothed a hand gently over Blaine's hair, trying to get the curls to cling together a little better than they were. Blaine grabbed his wrist, kissed his fingers and pulled him down for another kiss, which he pulled out of suddenly.

"Mmhmm, if I miss curfew, I'm going to wind up at the stupid club all fucking week."

"I thought that your dad was listening to you now about not wanting to go?"

"For now," Blaine sighed. "He's already trying to set up dinner with the Shore's this week."

"Where does their son go to school?" Kurt asked, tucking his shirt back in and attempting to smooth his own hair, which he was pretty sure was a lost cause.

"Daughter. Abigail Shore, she goes to Crawford County Day. She's trying to decide between Harvard and Yale. She's cool though. She's the one that ordered us all scotch. You'd like her. If my Dad hadn't invited her father to dinner I would have asked if you could come with."

"Maybe some other time."

Blaine gave him a tight smile and Kurt shrugged. Yes. He wasn't going to be brought over to meet even the children of Blaine's father's business associates anytime soon. He knew that.

Blaine smoothed his hair again and climbed up into the front seat. He reached back and grabbed his phone. "Kurt, we've got less than a minute."

"I know, I know," Kurt sighed, shoving the blanket and pillows into the storage compartment under the floor and hopping out of the side door and out into the cool shock the night before grabbing the door and sliding into the driver's seat. Blaine handed him the keys that they had purposefully left in the cup holder so that they wouldn't have to hunt for them in the back of the Navigator and Kurt shoved them into the ignition and rolled down the windows, letting staleness of hot breath and hormones out into the clear, wet night air.

"This sucks," Blaine said quietly.

"What happened to all of your parent's weekends away?"

"That's usually later in the summer."

Kurt puttered down the road, tooling around the block so that they would approach Blaine's house from the other side like they actually would have if they'd come from Kurt's house. He didn't really expect Blaine's parents to be thinking about that, but he certainly expected them to be waiting up. He was even pretty sure that he could see them moving around in the big picture window in Blaine's living room as he pulled up to the end of Blaine's driveway.

"You can drop me off here," Blaine sighed.

"Really? Shouldn't I walk you to the door?"

"Umm…" Blaine grinned at him, and reached out to smooth a hand over Kurt's hair. "Probably not the best idea. You have… you have crazy sex hair."

Kurt's hands flew to his hair, and he flushed. He could feel where it was sticking up in the back and out at odd angles. He'd have to pull over somewhere and try to battle it down.

Blaine leaned over and kissed him with a quick, "Love you, beautiful. Call me when you get home."

"Love you too."

Kurt turned his music up ludicrously loud on the drive home trying to drown out the "almost got there" jitters that were still coursing through him. He turned the music all the way down when he hit his street and spent five minutes in the driveway forcing his hair down into a flat terrible style that he would never actually wear, but that no one in his house would notice was different than the style he'd left the house in.

"Hey, Kurt," his dad called as he walked in the door. "How was rehearsal?"

"Fine. It was mostly Jet's stuff tonight, so Rachel got a little antsy, but other than that… fine. Nothing happened with Karofsky if that's what you're asking."

"What did you and Blaine do after rehearsal?"

Kurt shrugged nonchalantly. "Went to the Lima Bean. Got some tea. Split a biscotti. Nothing major."

His dad nodded and turned his head back to whatever was on TV. Finn lowered his eyebrows at him, smirked a little bit and also turned back to TV. It was a pretty blatant expression of disbelief coming from Finn and Kurt bristled before deciding that it would be better for him to just go upstairs. If Finn could tell something had happened, his father would figure it out. He needed to just hurry upstairs, call Blaine, make plans for tomorrow, do his moisturizing routine, switch out the lights, remember every sound that Blaine had made tonight, and finish off by himself.

He rushed out of his clothes, hung them up with the rest of the dry cleaning in his closet, and pulled on his pajamas. He was still a little hard. Not noticeable in his jeans, but visible in his light weight silk pajamas. He ducked his head out of his bedroom door and, greeted with an empty hallway, went to wash his face with colder water than he normally would have used. But it worked. He was a little more composed by the time he settled down at his vanity to moisturize and call Blaine.

Blaine picked up before the first ring even finished.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"So I caught sight of myself in mirror on my way up the stairs. You missed the whole back of my head. My father, however, did not. I had this very chic cowlick going on."

Kurt grinned as he carefully wiped a layer of toner over his face, "Black windows, black seats, black hair. In the dark. You are asking me for miracles."

"Well… he was suspicious but too uncomfortable to say anything to me, so I got upstairs alright. You?"

"My dad didn't say anything, but Finn gave me a look."

"Mhmm," Blaine laughed. "I bet you were all pink and blushy like you get when you're turned on."

Kurt froze with his cotton pad pressed to his chin. "What?"

"You get sort of… you know, rose cheeked. Kind of… like… glowing. Like you're too warm."

"When I'm…"

"When you're on top of me. When we're kissing," Blaine answered. He sounded weirdly hesitant, but excited.

"That's what I look like when I'm…turned on?" Kurt asked, his voice was edging up into that weird high breathy pitch that slipped out when he let himself get over excited. He hated that. He tried to clear his throat as surreptitiously as possible.

"Mhmm…I umm… that's what I've been thinking about while… while I've been waiting for you to call."

"Blaine what are you doing?" Kurt asked.

"I'm sorry. Is this… am I pushing?"

"If you were pushing, what would you be pushing for?"

"Uhh…well… you know… the other week in your room?"

"We were in my room most of last week, Blaine," Kurt tells him, even he knows exactly what Blaine's talking about.

"When we… when we got off back to back?"

"Uh huh," Kurt says, tossing the cotton ball in the trash and hurried pumping moisturizer into his hand, he has a feeling he's about to get distracted, and he should get the important parts out of the way as quickly as possible.

"I was… my curfew sucks, and we haven't been able to be alone for a while, and… I remembered that you… you said you wanted to hear me?" Blaine said. "I'm sorry… I shouldn't have just started… talking to you like that. I should have… I'm sorry. I feel like I've been pushing a lot lately… I swear it's okay that you need to go a little slow. I just… I think about you. I kind of think about you a lot. I get… I get a little wound up," Blaine cleared his throat. "Not that it's … your fault or anything, it's not , it's just-"

"Blaine!" Kurt cut him off, "Blaine it's okay."

"No. I keep doing it. I'm sorry."

"No. It's okay. Really. You didn't do anything wrong tonight-"

"I shouldn't have tried to get my hand in your pants without asking first." Blaine sighed.

Kurt abandoned his vanity and went to his window to switch on the fan, which would probably mask his voice, then sat at the edge of his bed, trying to gear himself up for this.

"Well… I send you mixed signals sometimes."

" 'No' is not a mixed signal Ku-"

"Just… stop forcing yourself to be prince charming for a second and listen, please?"

"Okay."

"I… I think about you too. I think about letting you do all of the things that I say no to. I just… I love kissing you, I love touching you… what we did tonight… I wanted to finish." He heard Blaine shifting his phone around on the other end. "I loved your hands on my back. I want to let you… touch me. I just, I don't know. I kind of panic about letting you under my clothes. You know me. I feel naked with less than three layers. Letting you… taking my shirt off with you is kind of a big deal for me."

"I understand that," Blaine said quietly.

"I think about it and think about it and think about it, and then you're there and your making that little… whimpering noise you make, and I want it, and then the second you touch me I don't know what I want anymore."

"Okay."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry."

Kurt glanced at the clock, and listened for any sounds of his family moving around. He couldn't hear anything over the fan, which meant that if anyone was out there they couldn't hear him.

"I love that noise," he said, trying to bring the pitch of his voice down.

"What noise?"

_Dammit Blaine_, Kurt thought to himself before settling back against his pillows and trying again. "That whimper you make. When I'm on top of you. When we're kissing. When you're turned on."

"Oh. So we can-"

"Yes. Yes we can," Kurt said. It was terrible, but this really was perfect. There was no curfew over the phone and while it wasn't as good as Blaine actually being here, it took the pressure off. Blaine couldn't cross a line and Kurt didn't have to worry about where he was setting them. "We can so do this."

"Right. Okay… I… sorry. I had a beginning sort of planned out and then you threw me off."

"Earlier? That was planned out?"

"I had a brief mental outline. It's not like I made note cards."

Kurt set his phone to his forehead and couldn't stifle a laugh. It was a stupid thing to love about Blaine, but he did. He loved it so much that Blaine was utterly incapable of finding a comfortable place to land between dork and dapper.

"Fine. You were telling me what I looked like when I'm turned on," Kurt said, shivering a little bit at himself for even being able to say something like that to Blaine. Even with how much time they had spent glued together at the lips and at the waist this summer there was still something a little surreal about wriggling underneath his covers and reaching up to flick off the light with every intention of having phone sex with his boyfriend before he fell asleep tonight. It was so much more intense than his original plan to just jerk off to thoughts of his boyfriend.

"Right. Right. I was telling you about how you get… sort of pink," Blaine told him.

Kurt laughed and Blaine huffed indignantly. "Okay. You know what? I already started once. You start this time."

"Fine," Kurt said, he shifted his phone in his hand for a moment, wondering if he should be touching himself already, but not quite ready to. He realized he had no idea how to initiate phone sex either, but he wasn't going to admit that. He'd improvise. If Puck could do his, he could. "I like…I like that you always let me be on top."

"Yeah?"

"I like the way that I feel…I like feeling in control. I feel more confident that way. Like it's really me making you… you know… gasp and moan," Kurt admitted, toying with the waistband of his pajama bottoms.

"Do you feel safer like that? Being in control?"

Kurt stopped moving his hand. "Is that why you let me be on top?"

"No!" Blaine said immediately. "No, I just… I wanted to know. I like having you… on top of me. I like how solid and…long you feel."

"Long?" Kurt asks, definitely pink and blushy at that.

"Tall and lanky. I like… I like being able to run my hands over you. I love how long your back is."

"You can touch me more than you do, you know," Kurt says, his cock just starting to return to hard. He ghosts a hand over his stomach. "Over my clothes, but you don't have to stop at my back."

There was a little catch of breath on the other end of the line.

"I'd like that."

There was an awkward little pause, Kurt wasn't sure how to fill it.

"I like the weight of you on top of me. _I_ feel safer like that."

"Safer?"

"Umm… I don't know. Secure. Calm maybe?" a breath rasped over the speaker. "Content. Yeah."

"Blaine?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you already…"

"What?"

"Are you already touching yourself?"

"Umm… you aren't?"

"No."

"Right. Sorry."

"No… it's okay," Kurt told him. "I was just… warming up more I guess."

"What do you do to warm up?"

"Well… right now I'm just… umm… talking to you."

"What do you usually do? When you're… alone?"

"Actually, can you tell me… while I… catch up?"

Blaine made that whimpering sound that just made Kurt's blood boil. "Yeah…yeah okay. I umm… I think about you mostly. Is that okay?"

Kurt undid the tie of his pajama pants. "Yes. That's completely okay."

"I usually think about kissing you, and that thing you do, with your fingers on my neck, kind of in my hair."

"That's what gets you…off?" Kurt asked, slipping his pajama pants off and debating for a moment whether he was going to pull his underwear off or not.

"No… that's what gets me started," Blaine said, his voice husky. "I think about the way you feel against me, like… if we made out with our shirts off, or just in our undershirts again, how warm you'd be, and soft and…" there's a terse little breath, "and lean and just… unh, just beautiful."

Kurt hurries out of his underwear, casts a quick glance at the door and hops up to turn the fan up to a higher setting.

"You called me beautiful earlier tonight."

"You are beautiful. Please… are you touching yourself yet?"

Kurt blew out a breath and reached between his legs, giving his mostly hard cock a tentative stroke. He felt kind of silly actually.

"I just started."

"I love when I can feel you hard through your jeans."

Kurt stroked himself a little harder, "Yeah, you too. I like when we're pressed together. I like being close to you like that."

"I love that. I think about that. I think about the way you pant in my ear."

"I think about the way you just mutter nonsense when you start squirming underneath me," Kurt said, eliciting a desperate, nasal noise from Blaine that was not _unlike_ a mouse getting killed in a mouse trap. Kurt almost giggled, but didn't want Blaine to stop.

"I think about stuff that we haven't done," Blaine said quietly.

A dull chill of terror spiked with a sharper edge of excitement cut through Kurt as he scooted down his bed a little bit. "Yeah."

"I think about stuff we haven't talked about yet."

"Like what?"

"Umm… can you… Kurt, please tell me what you think about when you're alone. Please go first."

Kurt flushed for a moment, this was deeper than he'd been planning. He reminded himself that he was with Blaine. Blaine wouldn't laugh at him. Well, Blaine would absolutely laugh at him, but it wouldn't matter. Blaine would laugh at him the way he had just laughed at Blaine. That was fine.

"I umm… I start out thinking about you kissing me."

"I love kissing you."

"Then just… I guess the stuff we do… but more. No interruptions."

"Do you…" Blaine blew a shaky breath into the phone speaker. "Do you ever think about me undressing you?"

"Yes," Kurt answered immediately. "But then when you're actually here-"

"Shh… it's okay. Don't worry about that right now. Just tell me…" There was a weird sound on the other end, then suddenly Blaine's voice was a little louder, a little more muffled. "Just tell me what you think about. You don't have to do it, don't worry."

"Okay. I… you undress me. We're somewhere nice. Like a nice hotel. We're usually in the hotel from the New York trip actually. But a nicer room. Better sheets. With candles and the shades open, too high for anyone to see in, but a view of the city. Time's Square."

Blaine huffed a noise into the phone that might have been a laugh if he wasn't jerking off.

"You asked what I think about-" Kurt began, scolding.

"No. I get it. Setting is important. Candles are good. You're a traditionalist. I respect that. What do we do while we're there?"

"In the hotel room? We usually…we…"

They had sex in the hotel room fantasy. Blaine ordered them champagne with raspberries in it and a little plate of ludicrously expensive dark chocolate and they made sweet softcore love with all of the gross and messy parts glossed over. Then they took a shower in the huge walk-in shower and fell asleep together. In the morning, Blaine brought him coffee and cranberry scones and then they went to 5th Avenue for a _massive_ spending spree, holding hands the whole time, and then they went out to a nice lunch, nothing with garlic, went back to the hotel and had sex again.

That had been the go to fantasy ever since "Teenage Dream" and Kurt didn't want to admit it. It was creepy to have thought about some random stranger like that just because he was gay and he had been nice to him. It was kind of terrible to have thought about his best friend like that. And now he was warm and aroused and he'd gone further than he meant to. Revealed too much. Like he had with his crush on Finn, and on Sam and when he'd told Blaine that he thought he was going to be the recipient of the Valentine's Day serenade.

It was a little too much.

"We umm…"

"Do we have sex, Kurt?" Blaine asked, sounding surprised more than anything. Shocked even.

"Blaine, please… can… let's go back to you."

"Shh… shh," Blaine seemed to be going for soothing, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. "Umm… okay… mmhmm… okay."

"Blaine are you close?" Kurt asked, not sure if he hoped that Blaine was close from thinking that Kurt had almost admitted to having imagined them having sex or if he hoped that wasn't what had gotten Blaine going. He wasn't sure if he still wanted to do this. He was sure he wanted to hear Blaine come, but he was feeling unsure of himself, which did not make him feel sexy.

"No…no…I'm slowing down for you, give me a second." Blaine panted into the phone. Kurt did kind of love that he was capable of getting Blaine this wound up. He started stroking himself faster, real strokes instead of light ones.

"Alright, do you…do you need the setting?"

"Do you have a setting?"

"Not really. It's just… like amorphously your room. Sometimes it's you car."

"My car?"

"Mostly it's just you."

Blaine could certainly pander to his audience. Kurt decided not to comment, opting instead to slide his legs a little further apart and tease his thumb along the underside of his cock. He wondered for a moment if Blaine liked that too but Blaine interrupted the thought with, "We're naked and kissing."

Kurt shivered

"And you've got your hands all wound up in my hair. You're kissing my neck. You're using your teeth."

Kurt bit his lip.

"And I'm doing it too. To you. I've got… I'm touching you everywhere. I love how soft your skin is, and how I can feel all of the muscles in your back." Blaine's voice was getting low and rough and insistent. Kurt's grip was getting firmer. "The knocks at the top of your spine and we're getting… you're making that little noise between your teeth and everything's…uhnn, getting to be too much so I roll you over onto your back-"

A little thrill of shock went up Kurt's spine, he wasn't expecting that from Blaine, and he was too turned on to stop listening now, sweat was starting to prickle over his forehead and his chest.

"And I kiss my way down your neck, across your shoulders… down-down-down your stomach," Blaine stuttered out the last part and Kurt stroked a little faster. "I run my tongue over your-"

Kurt cut him off with a loud gasp.

"Kurt? Should I stop? Kurt?"

"No, don't stop," Kurt breaths.

"Sure?"

"Blaine!" Kurt admonishes desperately.

"Okay… I uh, I'm kissing down your stomach, and I stop at your waist, maybe teeth again."

Kurt pinched himself, just below his belly button and his hips rocked up into his other hand.

"And I…I'm stroking you… stroking your cock and I run my tongue over your hipbones."

Kurt almost asks if he heard correctly, it's a strange thing to say, but Blaine's voice is making him imagine it. He can almost feel it, hot and wet and so close to what he wants but is afraid to ask for.

"I can feel your stubble on my thighs," he added to Blaine's litany. Blaine groaned.

"Do you like that?"

"Yes. It's hell on my face, but at first it always feels good. Feels good on my neck."

"I'm kissing your thighs. I'm starting at your knees and working up."

"Blaine," Kurt breathed, sliding his thumb over the head of his cock, it was slick and sensitive and for a second he couldn't believe that just Blaine's voice was getting him this far.

"Kurt… Kurt… can you… can you spit in your hand or something?"

"Why?"

"Please."

Kurt drops his cock, spits, and returns his hand to between his legs. He doesn't usually do it like this, he's usually quick and efficient. He comes in a Kleenex, wads it up tight and throws it away then washes his hands and falls asleep.

It feels good like this.

"Did you do it?"

"Yes."

"I'm stroking you wet like that."

"Feels good."

"And then I'm… I come up and I kiss you again, and then I… I ummm…"

"What do you do?" Kurt demanded. He was hovering on the edge, legs starting to shake a little bit.

"Isuckyourcock," Blaine breathed, all in a rush, blowing a harsh breath into the phone.

Kurt squeaked and squeezed his hand around himself, willing himself not to come quite yet.

"And you've got your hands on my shoulders, and you're… like… squeezing and… like… you're… you're…" there was a cry on the other end, and Kurt's last shred of reserve fell. He tossed his sheets off himself just in time, and came over his hand, shaking and gasping into his phone as it slipped down the pillow beside him.

It took him a moment of floating, somewhere far away and warm and sort of pink before he realized the tinny noise from his shoulder was Blaine.

"Kurt? Kurt? Are you still there?"

Kurt carefully picked his phone up with his clean hand and gingerly got out of bed to grab a couple Kleenexes off his vanity.

"I'm here," he panted.

"Did you-"

"Yeah. I did. I really, really did."

Blaine made a contented sort of sound as Kurt pinched his phone between his shoulder and his face and started carefully wiping his hand off.

"So… that was okay?"

"Yes, Blaine… that was very much okay."

"Good. You have no idea how badly I wanted to get you off tonight."

"Yes. I really do," Kurt breathed. He finished cleaning himself off and settled back into bed, naked and kind of okay with that. The silence stretched on further and Blaine laughed awkwardly.

"Umm… I don't know what I'm supposed to say now," Blaine admitted.

"Me neither," Kurt sighed.

"And you always have something to say."

Kurt was too tired and warm to go for a snarky retort, and so just settled on, "Yes. Yes I do."

"I love you," Blaine sighed finally.

"I love you too."

"So we don't have rehearsal tomorrow."

"Yeah."

"We should go out to lunch."

"."

"Okay. I know how this is going to make me sound, but I can't think of anything to say, and I still don't want to hang up, and I can't wait to see you tomorrow. Is there any chance that isn't creepy?"

Kurt giggled. "Nope. You're a big creeper."

"Damn."

"I'm just as bad though. Call me when you wake up. We'll get breakfast. Actually, wait, I'll make you breakfast."

"Waffles?"

"Do you have any idea how fattening waffles are, Blaine?"

"You are not fat."

"And I'm not going to _get_ fat. Crepes. With berries. No bacon, but if you let me get some sleep I might let you have one of my father's veggie sausage patties."

"Yum?"

"They're better than they sound. He almost likes them and he's impossible."

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Kurt grinned to himself. "Love you."

"Love you so much, Kurt."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."


	14. I Don't Feel Brave Tonight Part One

_Author's Note_

_This chapter got ridiculously epic. This is part one of this chapter, I'll post the other have after it's polished a little._

* * *

><p>Dave felt good when he woke up. He felt rested and like he actually had some energy. All summer he had been forcing himself out of bed a couple mornings a week, blearily struggling into his tennis shoes, and jogging out onto the sidewalk like a zombie, but he was starting to feel it.<p>

He also stopped eating chips and drinking pop. He felt less like he needed something keeping his hands and mouth busy. He was happier. Things were just _going better_. The pressure from school was gone, he had Santana to talk to and escape his house with. And apparently that good feeling, just the ability to relax sometimes was having an effect. Last night after rehearsal Santana had even commented that his pants were fitting looser.

Well, it was Santana so her actual comment had been, "So, where did all your trunk junk go and why didn't you tell me you were going for a go-go dancer's figure?" and then she'd stuck her hand in his waistband, pulled it out, and wolf whistled at him. And she'd done it because she was trying to cover the fact that she was nearly crying after she had told him about reading Brittany's emails and not being able to keep herself from emailing back that she missed her too.

But that still counted as a high praise from Santana and he felt good about it. Plus rehearsal had just been good last night. Jesse had made them go over "Tonight Quintet" six times, and at the end he had specifically told Dave that he "didn't suck." Kurt had assured him that was practically a standing ovation from Jesse before Blaine had come over and carted Kurt away from him.

Dave was pretty sure that Blaine hated him, but he didn't think he had the right to expect anything else. When Dave thought about what he'd do to someone who had threatened Santana, even though they weren't actually dating, he actually kind of respected Blaine for hating him. Plus he'd shoved Blaine around and called him names too. Blaine could hate him. It was fine. Dave was usually surprised that Kurt not only had said he didn't hate him, but acted like he didn't hate him.

Dave pulled his pajama shirt over his head and threw it in the general direction of the hamper, looking at himself in the little mirror over his bookshelf. He couldn't really _see _a difference, but the give in his pajama pants proved that progress was being made. He changed into his jogging clothes, beginning to whistle as he pulled his tennis shoes on and tied them.

He was still whistling when he reached the kitchen, and stopped in shock when he realized his dad and his brother were drinking coffee at the table, each with a section of the newspaper in front of them.

It suddenly struck Dave just how much Mark was starting to look like their father.

His dad looked up from the paper and smiled at him, even as the note Dave had been holding died on his lips.

"Morning, David."

Mark smirked up at him. "Someone's got a spring in their step."

"What song is that?" His dad asked. "It's familiar."

Dave pulled the milk out of the fridge and poured himself half a glass. "It's from the play. It's "Officer Krupke". Riff- that's me- has just gotten killed in a knife fight with the Sharks, and the Jet's- that's Riff's gang- all sing this song about how the adults around them just don't really get what they're going through, to take their minds off of how they just watched, you know, their leader die."

His father gave him a strange sort of look, high eyebrows, but still with a hint of a smile. "Right. I remember it differently."

"It's different in the movie. In the movie Riff sings the song with the Jets before the rumble and then Action sings "Cool" to get them to all calm down after I die. Riff dies."

Mark gave him an appraisinglook. "So Santana really is campaigning to get you into the _glee club_ next year?" he shook his head and turned back to his paper, "You're going to get your ass beaten."

"Mark, don't talk to your brother like that. David- I'm glad you're enjoying the play. It's nice to see you… a little more relaxed."

"Relaxed and whistling," Mark noted, folding up a section of the paper as he finished it and sliding it over to their father before looking up at Dave with an unmistakable expression. "How are things with Santana?"

"Good."

"Getting… serious at all?" his father asked in a weird tone.

"Ummm…. I guess."

"Anything…. We…. Might need to… uhh discuss?"

Dave looked at his father blankly for a moment before Mark started to laugh. His father shushed him. "Hey, now. I'm serious. Better… an awkward conversation now than a shock later. She's a very beautiful girl, David, and I'm sure she's bright and… a lady… but I was a teenager once too you know and-"

Oh god. He needed his father to not talk anymore. More than anything, he needed the talking to stop now.

"Dad!" he raked a hand through the air in front of him in a very clear cutting-off-the-conversation motion. "No! We're…" he glanced at Mark, who was still chuckling, "It's…we aren't… like that. I mean we…" there was no way to cover in front of both his father and his brother at the same time and he finally settled on, "I respect Santana," and immediately regretted it. That was not only not a believable thing to say about your very beautiful girlfriend, it was a totally lame thing to say about your best friend.

"Well… good then. Because we really like her and we'd like to keep her around. That girl has been so good for you," His father said, turning about as red as Dave was sure he must be.

"So what's happening in the news?" Dave asked, desperate for any change in subject, no matter how obvious his non-sequitur was.

Mark seemed to take pity on him. "Let's see… nuclear stuff in Japan…. Terrible economy… terrible economy… horrible housing market… Palin stuck her foot in her mouth… terrible economy… gay marriage vote in New York."

Dave's blood ran cold. Stupid. He knew that was today he just hadn't expected anyone in his house to mention it. He had been reading about it on the internet between browser purges. The other night, out at lover's lane, he and Santana had watched a couple of the PSAs on her phone. They'd watched the Alec Baldwin one twice. He'd even laughed.

"Oh, right." His father said, making that cold feeling sink even farther through him, all the way out to his finger tips. "I read about that Senator that finally started cursing at the press. It's almost unbelievable to hear a politician speak his mind instead of relying on canned remarks."

Dave gulped. That Senator had been for legalizing, and his father had heard about it, and almost… sounded supportive?

This was his chance. They were talking about this. This was the only chance he'd ever had to feel out what his family actually thought, outside of what his Dad had said to Kurt's dad about learning how they were wrong about homosexuals, and Dave would almost rather come out than face down Burt Hummel again. Almost.

And if he could just get his jaw to unclench he could asks something. Something careful.

"Right," he said, hoping his voice only sounded that weird in his own ears. "Santana mentioned that. She's…. she's been following it."

They both had. Obsessively. Most of the last week their conversations had been circular monstrosities. "That would make it six states" to "So what, everything's legal in Nevada and that hasn't changed anything" and "Isn't weed legal in Colorado?" to "It's never going to happen in Ohio" to "We aren't going to stay in Ohio, what does it matter if anything ever happens here?"

"She's…. she thinks they should be able to," Dave wondered if he'd stressed "they" in a weird way, "but you know. She's got… she's in glee club."

"Well…" His father shrugged, and took a sip of his coffee. "I suppose I haven't thought about it really. I suppose…" he looked like he was choosing his words very carefully, "I don't see the harm. I don't know. Your generation is so different than mine. Things used to be simpler."

Mark just shrugged.

"Right," Dave nodded and finished his milk. "Well… I'm gonna go get my run in. Busy day." He stood up, feeling like his legs were going to drop out from under him, blood rushing in his ears so loud he didn't hear his father call his name the first time.

"Sorry? What?"

"Why don't you invite Santana over to dinner tonight before rehearsal?"

"Umm… we… we don't have rehearsal tonight. We were going to go to a movie."

"What movie?"

"Uhh… don't know yet. She's going to pick it and text me."

Mark made a sound between his teeth and Dave ignored it. He knew what it meant. _Whipped. _

But that was better than the _fag_ he would have gotten if he'd admitted their real plans. Going over to Santana's empty for once house and watching the live stream until they learned what a blue state and the cultural center of the country really thought of them.

"Maybe some other time then," his father shrugged, returning to his paper.

"Yeah."

* * *

><p>Blaine pulled up to the Hudmel house, biting his lip, but grinning like an idiot. There was something just… different about this morning. The day was cool again, for June. Comfortable and dewy and gorgeous. And Kurt was going to make him breakfast. It was just… last night in the car, and last night on the phone and now this. It was just so intimate.<p>

He was a little hesitant about seeing Kurt after what had happened between them last night. He wasn't necessarily worried that it would be awkward, but things were a little different now and with Kurt it was always hard to tell how different. After getting off back to back in his room things really hadn't changed that much… but that had been pretty tame. Admitting that he got off by fantasizing about going down on Kurt and then describing it in detail was a whole different thing.

Maybe.

Plus Kurt still hadn't really said anything about what he thought about or what he wanted, and Blaine was just as in the dark as before.

He paused at the door. It was still early and he wasn't sure if Kurt's family would be awake yet. He pulled out his phone to text Kurt. The door opened before he could hit send.

"Morning, sweetheart," Carol greeted him with a quick hug. "I thought I saw you pull up. Kurt's in the kitchen."

Carol was dressed up in nice slacks and a bright green blouse with ruffles and it took Blaine a moment to realize that it seemed strange because he had been imagining her in some sort of ratty pink robe and slippers in the morning. Or more correctly, he imagined that she used to have a ratty pink bathrobe until Kurt took the opportunity of a birthday or mother's day to replace it with something nicer.

"Good Morning, Carol. You look nice."

Mr. Hummel appeared behind her, his cap missing and his shirt tucked in. "I thought I'd take Carol out before work. They do a real nice spread over at O'Halloran's and apparently _we_ are not getting any breakfast made for _us._"

"I made you coffee," Kurt's voice carried from where he was standing in the doorframe of the kitchen. He was wearing a crisp white apron over what looked like a relatively simple outfit for Kurt. He had a whisk in one hand, the other on his hip, and a small patch of flour on his cheek. "Which you are not supposed to have."

Blaine smiled as Mr. Hummel rolled his eyes and clapped him on the shoulder.

"See you boys later. Come on, Carol."

Kurt cleared his throat theatrically. "Your lunch?"

"Right," Mr. Hummel nodded, clearing his throat and stomping back toward the kitchen and reappearing with a paper bag.

Blaine waited for the door to close behind them before walking over to Kurt, who was smiling and looking just slightly nervous.

"Morning," Blaine said, kissing him lightly on the lips.

"Morning," Kurt replied.

Blaine looked at him, just grinning, for a little too long and Kurt cleared his throat and turned

back toward the kitchen.

"How did you sleep?" he asked, moving a bowl on the counter and grabbing an egg out of the carton in front of him.

"Like a rock," Blaine told him.

"Me too," Kurt said. There was another weird little pause, heightened but not really awkward.

"Is there anything I can help make?"

Kurt handed him a box of raspberries, some powdered sugar and a fork and gave him a few instructions on making glaze. Blaine poured them both cups of coffee. They worked quietly together for a little while, it turned out crepes didn't take all that long to make, and then sat down at the table together, each with a full plate.

Kurt ate… Blaine didn't want to say daintily… but daintily. Politely. Cutely. Debonairly.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asked. "You're staring at me."

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry," Blaine shook his head and dropped his eyes down to his crepes. He took a bite and looked back up at Kurt, who was still looking at him.

"I like when you stare at me," Kurt said quietly. "You're the only person who looks at me like that."

Blaine bit his lip but didn't look away. "I like the way you roll your eyes at me."

Kurt started to do it and Blaine laughed. "And then you call me ridiculous."

"I'll insult you more often, then," Kurt smiled, returning to his crepes.

"No, it's not like insulting it's…" Blaine shrugged. "I don't know. It's good. I like it."

"We should talk more," Kurt blurts out.

Blaine quirks his head, and is about to tease, when the memory of Kurt panting into the phone against his ear suddenly hits him hard.

"Talk more? Like," Blaine tried to think of a way to put this that wouldn't sound dirty and get Kurt flustered and uncomfortable. "Like last night?"

Kurt blushed. When he replied his voice was high and breathy, "Sort of. I… Okay… It's…" he grinned and touched the tines of his fork to his mouth. "I don't like that you get me this… unsophisticated."

"I love that I get you this unsophisticated." Blain grinned.

"I've been thinking about it, and I want… Okay. The reason I kicked you out of my room for trying to talk about sex, was because I… I really liked you and I didn't want to listen to you talk about all of your exploits with-"

"I don't have-"

"I know. But what was I supposed to think, Blaine? You're… picking up college boys and singing dirty songs to them, and making girls fall at your feet… I just… I didn't need to hear about how you were off… doing all those things when I'd been kissed _once,_ like _that_."

Blaine wanted to protest and pull Kurt close and kiss him better, but he resisted, letting Kurt finish.

"I feel like… I feel like you think that I'm afraid of you, and that's not it. I mean, you aren't going to hurt me, you're Blaine. I just… I don't know what I'm doing, and I don't… I don't have any examples for how to do any of this, and I don't know how far I want to get and I don't know what I'm ready for and I just… I panic. And last night was the only time we've ever really… ever really talked about sex at all."

"So… you want to talk about sex?" Blaine asked.

Kurt made a cutting motion in front of himself. "No. Vehemently, decidedly no, I do not. I love you, I trust you… I'm just… not there yet."

"Okay. That's fine," Blaine said. "Me neither. You know that right?"

Kurt smiled. "No. I didn't, actually."

"Okay," Blaine smiled back. "Talking. Honesty. Good."

Kurt ducked his head, and took a bite of his crepes and Blaine was so, so in love with him.

"After breakfast do you want to go upstairs?" Kurt asked.

"Yes," Blaine answered. "And talk?"

"And talk. And… then do more than that."

* * *

><p>"So have either of them said anything to you?" Carol asked, thanking the waiter quickly as he set their plates in front of them.<p>

"Not a word. And I feel like there's a reason I'm not supposed to ask." Burt separated the yolk out of his huevos rancheros with a sigh.

"Yeah. I mean, I didn't really expect Blaine to say much about it. But I guess… with Kurt I thought I'd have had my ear talked off at some point. What did he say a when it was California?"

"As little as possible," Burt shrugged. "He was fourteen, wasn't out of the closet yet. I caught him watching it on the news or looking it up online _all of the time,_ but always pretended that I didn't notice. It seemed easier on him that way."

Carol nodded, "But… New York is _so close _to legalizing. They only need… what, like, three of the undecideds? And Kurt's been talking about New York since they found out that's where Nationals were. He's ordered look-books for practically every college in the city."

"Finn says he caught Blaine and Kurt looking up apartments in New York," Burt said.

"That's why I kept expecting _one of them_ to say something," Carol said, sounding exasperated more than anything else.

"I always knew that Kurt wasn't going to stay in this cow town, and it's only gotten clearer in the last couple years…but I guess I'm not ready to think about him shipping all the way out to a city like that. And I'm really not ready to think about him running off with Blaine."

"I thought you liked Blaine," Carol raised her eyebrows at him.

"Do you like Rachel?"

"Sure. I'd like her more if I could ever feed her anything without spending half an hour on the internet looking up ingredient lists, but she's sweet and driven and I think she's probably good for Finn."

"Do you want Finn to move across the country and marry her just because he can?"

"Oh," Carol said setting her fork down.

"Yeah. Oh."

"You don't really think that they would run off to New York and get married do you?"

Burt set his fork down and took a drink of his orange juice. "Kurt's already planning out apartments and commutes in a city that I'm a little afraid to go to, with the only other kid like him he's ever even met. They've only been dating for a few months, they're both the type to dive in head first… I… want him to be able to have the things everyone else can have, but I worry about how serious this whole thing has gotten."

"Burt-"

"If this was about Finn and Quinn you'd be agreeing with me," Burt pointed out.

Carol frowned at him. "Quinn Fabray is," she cast a look around and lowered her voice, "a lying, controlling, little tramp. Don't compare apples to rotten eggs. I'd rather have Finn run off with _Puck_ than Quinn and Puck's somewhere in Wisconsin racking up misdemeanors."

Burt held up his hands in defeat. "I'm not saying I'm going to say anything. Kurt's happy, Blaine's a good kid. They've got another year of high school to survive."

"And it's not like Kurt would be following him out there."

"And we won't even know until tonight."

Carol took his hand on the table.

"Right. No point worrying yet."

Carol ran her thumb across his knuckles and squeezed his hand before returning to her waffle. "And, if I'm being completely honest, between Rachel, Quinn, and Blaine? I know who I would pick as a kid-in-law."

* * *

><p>"How about here?"<p>

Kurt giggled and play-shoved Blaine backward. Blaine grinned and pressed him back into the kitchen cupboard, kissing the other side of his neck. Kurt shivered despite the warm glow radiating outward from his chest.

"What about here?"

"Cut it out," Kurt laughed.

Blaine slipped his mouth down a little further, "What about here? Or maybe," he settled at Kurt's collarbone, "Here?"

Kurt play shoved him again, and let his hands linger at Blaine's waist when Blaine didn't move. He loved that Blaine was just _playing _with him. It was one of those stupid little things that no one had ever done with him. Like when Finn and Puck shoved each other around or Sam and Mike just tossed a ball back and forth. Blaine moved his mouth from Kurt's neck and pecked three kisses along his jaw.

Okay, so maybe not exactly like when the other guys were goofing around, but it was nice to have someone be physical and playful with him when it was still, after everything, only Puck who would ever do something like slap him on the back or fist bump him or laugh into his shoulder.

"You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculous? Or thorough?" Blaine asked, kissing at the other side of his throat again.

"If you give me a hickey I am going to break up with you."

"You aren't going to break up with me. You _love_ me," Blaine taunted. "Plus, you gave me a hickey," he still sounded thrilled, and it was sickening, "and you know what they say about payback."

"People who insist on payback don't get lunch made for them?" Kurt supplied, twisting his fingers in Blaine's shirt, not pushing him away anymore, but not really encouraging.

"Oh no, however will I figure out the intricacies of bread and lunch meat without you here to supervise me?" Blaine set his lips to a spot along one of the tendons of Kurt's neck, a spot that mirrored the livid purple mark that Kurt had sucked into Blaine's neck earlier this morning.

He had, admittedly, gotten carried away, but they'd had a very straightforward conversation about what was on and off the table and he had stayed will within the bounds of that.

Sex, even as a topic of discussion, had been taken off the table immediately. Phone sex had remained on the table (though Kurt had insisted they think of something else to call it), blow jobs were not going to happen in the near future, but were an acceptable imaginary topic for long distance sex via communication device and hand jobs (also on the condition they found a less crass title) were to be revisited at a later date, when they weren't both so riled up and turned on from such an involved conversation about the things they could do to one another.

And then Blaine had been bucking and muttering nonsense underneath him, warm and inviting in the tee shirt that had been under his light blue polo, all Kurt had wanted was for Blaine not to stop. Blaine had stopped of course, scooting out from under Kurt and declaring, breathlessly, that he needed to cool down. They'd decided to go out for a walk, but then Blaine had caught sight of himself, and his somewhat huge hickey, in Kurt's vanity mirror, and chased Kurt downstairs and through the living room, trying to reciprocate.

Blaine's lips shifted against Kurt's neck a little. He teased at the skin there with his bottom teeth, until Kurt made a held-in little noise. Kurt bit his lip, mentally catalogued the number of summer scarves that went with his outfit, came up with four examples immediately and three that Blaine could probably pull off if he changed his shirt and let his spine melt back into the cupboard a little bit.

"People who insist on payback don't get their boyfriend to lend them a scarf to cover up their own hickey?"

"Nope. Too late. You _mauled_ me. I'm already at the calling Rachel for help picking out concealer, wearing a high collar, and hoping for the best stage. Not everyone pulls off a scarf like you do."

Kurt laughed again and gripped Blaine's shirt tighter. "Really? You're going to ask Rachel for tips about makeup?"

"Well, the hickey is your fault, you could help me."

"So you can't give me a hickey, because then who will help you pick out concealer? Rachel doesn't have my eye for shade.

Blaine pulled back, and kissed Kurt's nose with a grin.

"So close to convincing. But it's too late. Now hold still, it's payback time." Blaine's tone was completely, ludicrously serious until he giggled and launched forward, pressing Kurt against the counter with his hips and setting his mouth to Kurt's neck. Kurt laughed, nuzzled his nose into Blaine's shoulder, and gripped Blaine tight around the arms as Blaine ran his tongue over the spot he'd chosen, just about Kurt's clavicle, sucking gently at first before increasing the intensity.

Kurt's eyes slipped shut and he let a little bit of a gasp escape his lips. Blaine shifted his weight a little bit and pressed his hips further into Kurt's, where Kurt was starting to get just a little hard again.

There was a quiet buzz and an intense feeling, right up against his cock. Kurt let out a _pornographic_ noise and pushed Blaine away. Blaine looked at him with an expression of pure, dumb lust for a moment, until the buzz sounded again.

"Fuck," Blaine hissed, digging his phone out of his pocket. Kurt leaned heavily back against the counter, flush with arousal and humiliation.

"Just to make that worse," Blaine sighed, "It's my father. Fuck fuck fuck." He blew out a steadying breath and Kurt tried to pretend that he didn't exist.

"Hi, Dad… No, I'm at Kurt's…I left a note… on the fridge… yes. Under the Walden magnet… yes…Tonight? You said later this week…well… what if I go to racquetball this weekend?"

Kurt sunk further back against the counter, even as his spine straightened a little. He never really forgot how lucky he was to have his dad, but things like this made the appreciation sharper.

"And I suppose he didn't ask if Abigail had plans either…Yes. I'm sorry that was inappropriate… yes. I'll be home for dinner, what time are…but that's when…" Blaine clenched his jaw.

The livestream tonight. Kurt realized. Right. He'd been reading the occasional article online. He'd noticed that Carol read every news paper article and usually left the paper folded open to them and set out where he might see them. His dad never flipped past an update on the TV news.

But he and Blaine hadn't really talked about it since that first discussion. It was just… it was different than it was a few years ago. Neither of them had been out then. Neither of them had known anyone else who was out. This wasn't the desperate need to feel some connection to people that it had been before. This wasn't just about a big important political battle.

It was too personal this time. It was so close to passing and it might not. In a state where they were planning to live. It wasn't as abstract as it had been before. It wasn't "California is an important battle ground for gay rights" it was "This decides whether or not we could get married if we move to New York" which begat a whole conversation about marriage when they had just finally managed a conversation about physical boundaries and sex without anyone getting thrown out of the house or bursting into flame.

Kurt hadn't realized that Blaine had been planning to watch it. Kurt had been planning to avoid the livestream itself, even though he knew Carol had bookmarked the webpage and he'd seen where his father had carefully torn out the blurb in the newspaper this morning. He couldn't sit and listen to it this time. He had been planning to sit in his room, now that he thought about it, with Blaine, refreshing Google News every 10 minutes until he knew, one way or the other and avoid all of the actual discussion. He'd been called enough things this year already.

"Nothing. Never mind. Yes. I'll be home. Okay. Bye."

Blaine dropped his phone on the counter. Kurt leaned forward, doubting the instinct for a moment, then took the three steps and wrapped his arms around Blaine. Blaine growled and buried his face in Kurt's shoulder.

"_Christ_," Blaine hissed. "He just doesn't even _try_."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I can't tell if this about you in particular or he just doesn't care what I might be doing or if whatever this stupid business thing is so important that he has to bring me in as like… shit… I don't even know. A prop for this whole stupid fucking dinner thing," Blaine muttered and Kurt squeezed him tighter.

"Oh… shit," Blaine sighed. "And I have a hickey."

"I'm sorry."

"No. Don't be," Blaine pulled back. "It's fine."

"Do you want me to help you pick something out to cover it?"

"Just not a scarf." The corner of Blaine's lip quirked up sarcastically. "He used the phrase "conservative business contact"."

"Oh. Conservative," Kurt nodded in understanding. "I can do conservative."

Blaine's smile turned real, and he snorted. "Now that I'd like to see."

* * *

><p>"So, here's the plan," Santana said, adjusting her sunglasses as she and Dave wandered aimlessly around the park. It was too nice to be inside and they were both too anxious to sit anywhere. "My parents are going out tonight, it's their anniversary, they're driving all the way to Dayton for dinner, drinks and dancing. If they come home at all, and the last couple years, they haven't, it won't be till one or two. So you and me are free to chill in my living room, getting our drink and politics on."<p>

"Awesome. You want to order something?"

"Hells yes. Take out. Lo Mien. Cream Cheese wontons."

"You read my mind."

Santana shrugged and smiled. "So… Eric from the play… what are we thinking? A little metro or playing for team gay?"

Dave felt the pink in his cheeks. "You're the one with the magic gaydar, Santana. I try not to think about it."

"Thought it might have crossed your mind. Considering the little play wrestling thing that Jesse choreographed for you boys and the fact that the boy is fo-ine."

"Really? Not even your type and you give "fine" two syllables?" Dave asked.

"Catty, Karofsky. Well done," Santana slipped her hand into his and squeezed before dropping it again. "I just thought he might be your type. You know. Jock-y. Football-y. Man-ly. Considering all the Sam-leering."

Dave's shoulders hunched a little bit. "I… don't know. I'm not sure that's my type. I don't know if I have a type. I just... I don't know."

"Wait… you're not telling me that Kurt-"

"No! That's not why…" Dave cleared his throat and moved a little closer to Santana, keeping his voice down and hoping that she would follow suit. "That doesn't have anything to do with that. Can we please not talk about this in public. Or like, ever?"

"I'm just curious. Come on man," she swept her hand in a circle in front of her body, "Safe space. What gets your motor revving?"

"Why are you pushing this?" Dave demanded.

"Because the guy under the picnic shelter, with the broad shoulders and the square jaw and nerd-sexy glasses has been watching you every time we by, and has definitely been watching you walk away."

"What?"

"Okay, be cool. The guy in the glasses, at two o'clock is hella checking you out."

Dave blanched and tripped over his own foot. "No he isn't, he's looking at you. Guys are always looking at you."

"M-mmm, he's watching your ass, not mine."

Dave suddenly felt paralyzed, like there was no way of moving that didn't try attention to his body. He felt naked.

"Dave? Getting checked out is a good thing. You look like you're about to hurl."

Dave grabbed her hand, shook his head and slipped his arm around her waist. "I'm not… this isn't something I can do right now. Let's go… let's go lie in the grass."

Santana looked like she was about to make fun of him for a moment, but shrugged, settled her glasses more firmly on her face and shrugged, "Whatever you want."

* * *

><p>Kurt had done an amazing job. Blaine looked dressed up and conservative and straight and not at all like he'd wound up with another hickey right under the original one after spending the afternoon discovering that all it really took to get his boyfriend more comfortable with sex was to promise not to try to have it for a while.<p>

Abigail looked beautiful, painted and bored. After formal greetings, each of them had been given a small glass of watered down wine and sent out to the parlour to talk while Blaine's mother finished getting dinner ready to serve and while their fathers talked about whatever boring business thing they had planned this dinner to discuss.

"This blows," Abigail sighed, knocking her entire glass of wine back in two gulps.

"This does indeed blow," Blaine agreed amicably. "I was supposed to have the entire day with my boyfriend."

"Is this the boyfriend you're not supposed to run off to New York with to live with the rats?"

"Mhmm. And tonight…" Blaine sighed. It was stupid.

"What?"

"Tonight, right now, they're deciding if I can run off and marry him, and my father magically scheduled a dinner party. I'm suspicious."

"Mhmm. Me too. I'm supposed to be at a concert with my boyfriend. Death Cab for Cutie. Had the tickets for weeks. He hates all music written after like 1910. I swear. If it wasn't originally played on a Vitcrola it's a mark of a degrading society. And he has yet to realize that by hating my clothes and making me leave the house in something that I can't be seen in, he's just creating a reason for my boyfriend to get to watch me change in the car."

"So he hates music, he hates reasonable clothes, how's he feel about the boyfriend?"

"Hates him too. And he's one of the more… presentable guys I've dated. I think all parents are required to blanketly hate boyfriends."

Blaine snorted, "Well, I'm pretty sure my father hates mine."

"Well…" Abigail smirked. "Look at you. You've got what, some… punk rock, mohawk, leather jacket, converse knee highs, safety pins in his cheeks punk hanging on your every word right?"

Blaine snorted and pulled his phone out of his pocket, flipping through his pictures until he found one he'd snapped of Kurt that morning, his forehead creased in concentration as he carefully poured crepe batter into a pan.

"Awww… your father hates _him_? He's a fluffy bunny. He looks like hordes of marshmallow peeps following him around asking him if he's their mommy."

"Hey," Blaine protested good naturedly.

"In a good way," Abigail put her hands up. "He's very handsome, Blaine. Not my type. But cute in a fluffy bunny way."

"He's not a fluffy bunny."

"Right. I believe you." Abigail mocked.

Blaine flicked his eyes toward the kitchen, where his father and Mr. Shore were refilling their scotch glasses, and tugged his collar down a little bit for Abigail to see.

"Fine. So Bunny's got teeth," Abigail sighed. "I'd be impressed, but I've got darker marks on my thighs, which I'm not going to show you because I'm a lady."

"I'd actually like to see you go up against his friend Santana."

Abigail laughed and stretched impatiently. "Okay. We need to get this shit on the road. I like you, Anderson, but I need to get home and start thinking of ways to express my champagne-problems angst all over daddy's credit card as punishment for this bullshit night. No offence."

"No. One hundred percent on board."

"I think that requires a "girlfriend" tacked on the end," Abigail mused. "You know? "One hundred percent on board, girlfriend!"."

"Yeah. I don't do that."

"Shame."

* * *

><p>The road was freedom. Driving until you found somewhere to land was like the feeling he got sometimes at temple, when he knew he was part of the divine.<p>

Puck rolled his mom's busted up Volvo down a street full of fancy restaurants, and a huge blue… thing that looked like an IKEA and smelled like fish. He turned at a group of expensive apartments, down a beautiful riverside road and under a bridge until he found a place to park that looked free. And if it wasn't free, parking tickets did not matter on the road.

He threw the door of his car open. It made a crunching noise and fell off a little bit. He manhandled it closed.

"Whatever. Minnesota, land of duct tape. Get that taken care of in the morning," Puck laughed with the joy he felt every time he parked for the night. Another night of freedom. Another night without consequence. One less night without Lauren.

He raised his voice in song.

"Well, they showed you a statue, told you to pray, built you a temple and locked you away!"

People he passed in the street smiled at him, and he walked toward the lights.


	15. I Don't Feel Brave Tonight Part Two

Blaine hated dinners with his father's colleague's children. Usually he wound up making semi-polite conversation with some useless brat that would have been lost in the world without his father's money and nepotism, so Abigail was, at least, a relief on that front, but it still just irked him that he had to give up a night with his boyfriend, and Abigail had to give up a night with hers, so that their fathers could make boring business stuff seem more… friendly or whatever.

Mr. Shore had bragged about Abigail's grades and her ballet performances and her cooking classes. Abigail had picked disinterestedly at her dinner, never adding more than a word or two of information to her father's little presentation about her.

Mr. Shore didn't seem nearly as bad as Abigail had made him sound. He was being perfectly polite to Blaine, almost jovial, but Abigail was occasionally shooting daggers out of the corner of her eye as he talked.

Blaine nodded along as her father talked about how she'd just taken over Crawford County Day's school newspaper and just continued nodding as his father launched into a little presentation of his own.

Blaine smiled his blank, non-committal dinner party smile, the one he used whenever his father went through the laundry list. Prestigious school. Dean's list. Never anything about his extra-curriculars, especially nothing about the Warblers, and always a little too quick of a denial when people inevitably asked Blaine if he had a girlfriend and always some small comment about Blaine's personality that was never true.

"And he just aced his finals. We're trying to get him to start looking at colleges. He's still undecided, but that's Blaine. He dithers."

"I thought you were looking at NYU?" Abigail asked. Blaine took a deeper sip of his watered down wine. She wasn't playing the game. She'd been brash and just skirting rude for most of the night and it wasn't making anything easier.

Or maybe Blaine was just getting more sensitive to that after spending so much time at the Hudmels. He was out of practice with snotty rich kids and getting used to the warm and easy affection between all of the Hudmels, Kurt and his father's balancing act of love, equality and who exactly was taking care of who at any given moment and Finn's (and his own) hesitant adoration of Mr. Hummel.

His own house stood on a foundation of politeness, and Blaine was worried that if Abigail refused to play along, thing were going to crumble.

"Well… still undecided," Blaine shrugged, digging back into his pasta.

"What about you Abigail? Your father says that you're looking into Harvard?"

"Mmm, or Yale," Abigail shrugs. "Maybe somewhere else. I'm not sure yet."

"And what are you thinking you'll study?"

Blaine allowed himself to zone out. There were only four acceptable things to admit to. Medicine, Law, Business and Psychology. And the conversation for each always went the same. The school you picked is great for that, I have a friend whose father/brother/cousin is in that field, maybe I can set up a lunch.

"I don't know. I haven't made a decision. Maybe History. Philosophy. Music."

Blaine looked up at her. She winked at him.

Blaine's father recovered quickly.

"Oh. Music. Blaine is in his school's choir."

Blaine fought the urge to smirk. His father never ever brought up the Warblers.

Abigail nodded and smiled. "I know. He's the Warbler soloist."

Blaine's father patted his shoulder proudly and Blaine nearly ducked out of the touch in surprise. "Look at that, Blaine, she's heard of you," His dad said, then laughed his 'formal dinner laugh'.

Blaine shrugged. "Well… sure. Crawford County Day girls come to performances sometimes. They're just down the block. We share parts of the campus."

Abigail laughed. "Yeah. I heard that you boys set up some sort of…" she looked around the table quickly, "big show in one of the old out buildings. _Props_ and scaffolding and…like a whole night club thing."

"Oh, uh, yeah. That was a really stupid idea that I had, actually. We were trying something for Regionals."

"Well, whatever it was must have worked Shawna, Clarice and Anwen all came back just pissed-"

"Abigail," her father warned.

Blaine chuckled politely. "About what?"

"Apparently they tried to give one of the guys there numbers and it was the only time a Warbler had ever shot them down."

Blaine bit his lip but started to laugh, until his father clapped him on the shoulder again, in exactly the same way as before and said, "Well, maybe this one could be convinced."

He froze. Abigail looked up at him, questioning, and he shook his head.

No. No way. His father was just… no. He was just talking. It was just awkward business colleague stuff. Abigail probably got it all the time too. She gave him a look like she was trying to communicate with him telepathically, but Blaine just carefully adjusted his collar.

"So, Abigail. The school newspaper. That must be exciting," he said. She pursed her lips but gave.

"Absolutely. We work really hard on it."

She launched into a story about some story the paper had covered and Blaine leaned back in his chair, wondering just how embarrassing this dinner might get.

* * *

><p>Finn had been making a concentrated effort to spend more time over at Rachel's. For one, her Dads did not have an open door policy, they just trusted Rachel to make her own decisions. Finn wondered if that was because even they knew what a prude she was. And for another he felt like being in Rachel's house helped him <em>get <em>her.

Rachel was sort of this weird little mix between her fathers. Leroy was sort of loud and brash and showbiz, and Hiram was… high strung and intense, but in a dull wears-a-suit-to-work sort of way.

Finn actually didn't really mind being left alone with both of them sometimes, like when he was waiting for Rachel to change or grab her keys or something. He just didn't like trying to talk to just one of them. It was like talking to half of Rachel and it got sort of weird.

But tonight the whole house just seemed quiet. The only thing Leroy had said to Finn all night was when he'd offered him a fruit snack. There was very little junk food in Rachel's house, but the things she did have were always things that Finn hadn't had since he was in elementary school, like Teddy Grahams and fruit roll ups. It was sort of awesome.

Rachel hadn't even wanted to sing once they'd gotten into her room. He probably should have picked up on the fact that something was wrong before that, but at least he knew that was too big a tip off to miss.

"Is… is everything okay? Your place seems sort of tense."

"Oh… right. Sorry… it's just the news tonight is sort of… these things are can be hard on my family. I get a little nervous about them."

"Oh. Right," Finn said, sitting down next to her on her bed. "The marriage thing in New York."

"You know about that?"

"I live with Kurt and his Dad," Finn reminded her gently. "And I practically live with Blaine. Would… would your dads be able to get married in New York and come back and be married here?"

"Legally yes, under the full faith and credit clause that should work, but… that's not how the world works."

"Right." Finn nodded.

"I've just… I've been thinking about your mom and Burt's wedding and all the beautiful things that Kurt did and about you singing and I just… it would be nice you know? Singing at my fathers' wedding? And I know it's going to happen someday, and it's going to happen here some day and we're all going to sing at Kurt's wedding too, but … I just worry about how long it's going to take. I mean… my dads have been together for almost 25 years, you know?"

Finn wrapped his arms around her waist and she turned her body toward him, hugging him tightly.

"Are you guys all going to watch it?"

"Umm… yeah. Dad doesn't usually sit through the whole thing, but-" Rachel shrugged and Finn nodded. He had been surprised to learn that Rachel called both her fathers "Dad" and that everyone in the house could usually tell who she was talking about. He kept meaning to tell Kurt about that. Finn couldn't tell who she meant, but was having one of those rare nights where he actually felt like a decent boyfriend. He got that all he had to do now was hug her back harder.

"I think we're watching it at my house too. Maybe I should go. Let your family… settle in."

"Do… would you stay? Not to watch it… just to sit up here with me?"

"Of course."

* * *

><p>He'd been wrong. He'd been willing to write off "Maybe this one could be convinced" as just some stupid meaningless remark that his father had thrown out because it was the kind of thing that was said. Like it was just one of those random, awkward, over-familiar comments that his father and his father's colleagues sometimes made. One of those icky club culture things that he hated, but found it best to ignore or avoid. Or maybe it had even just been to keep Blaine from admitting that he was the Warbler who had turned down a throng of Crawford girls with a casual (okay, Kurt had called it "insufferable") "Sorry, not your team."<p>

But "Maybe this one could be convinced" had been followed up with a strangely barbed comment about Blaine growing up out of his Harry Potter phase and a comment that Abigail's father had made to her about associating with more appropriate young men.

Blaine just wanted to cry. He wasn't sure if it was because it was happening, or because the thought that his father might pull him out of Kurt's house on the night of the marriage debate for the express purpose of setting him up with Abigail had never occurred to him.

And it should have. This is what his father did. His father had always done this, and had been doing it more than ever all summer. He brought in reinforcements to get his way. Because it was easier to have a stranger try to convince Blaine that he needed to go to Princeton, or Oxford, or Yale, or Harvard. It had been easier that one time to get some random alum to try to get Blaine to quit the Warblers than it was to talk about anything with his own son.

Abigail wasn't here to wax poetic about Harvard for Blaine's benefit. Abigail was here because it was too easy entirely to for his father to wipe an entire dinner with Kurt from his memory and haul in some girl Blaine had admitted to enjoying, who had a father who needed a nice young man to scoop his daughter away from her punk boyfriend, and then make conversation and set up dates and _try to make him straight_.

"Oh, yeah. I'm super excited about it. My sister and I always have fun, and ugh, the theater," Abigail was saying. Blaine tried to force his mind back into the conversation. This wasn't as bad as he was making it. Abigail knew he was gay, Abigail knew he had a boyfriend, Abigail had her own boyfriend, and Abigail wasn't going to put up with this shit from their fathers. Blaine could basically hide behind her skirts, survive the night, and then go up to his room and call Kurt and cry about how he'd really started to believe that his parents were making progress. Kurt had cried in front of him so many times that he wouldn't even have to feel bad about it.

"Oh, yes, the theater in New York is amazing," his mom chimed in. "What was the last thing we saw, Chester? That strange one about all the… the murders and everything?"

"Murders?" His father asked.

"Yes, and they… sorry, for this, but the… what was he a… some poor man who killed people and made them into pies?"

"Sweeny Todd," Blaine supplied.

"Yes," his mother said, turning back to Abigail. "It's very different, but it's good."

"Yeah. My boyfriend, Joshua, loves it. He saw it at the playhouse in Cincinnati" Abigail announced shooting Blaine a look.

Her father's smile dropped off and his face tightened. He turned to Blaine. "Have you been to New York, Blaine?"

Blaine shook his head. "No I haven't, but-" it was on the tip of his tongue. _My boyfriend has._ In the split second pause he dithered over saying it or not saying it, if it was just being intractable toward a man his father may have had some actual business reason for having at dinner, or if it was a justifiable place to draw a line in the sand.

Then his father cut him off. "But maybe Abigail could show him around sometime, if they both wind up on the east coast. Sounds like you two have a lot in common, doesn't it, Blaine?"

And the urge to cry turned into the urge to scream, just like that. Blaine felt his whole face go hot. He looked at Abigail and she raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"Actually," he said, his voice tight and weird in his ears, "While I do totally love Sondheim, who you just can't knock, because, _oh my god_, I'm actually more into Wicked."

"Oh, I love Wicked," Abigail gushed, watching him as though not sure he had decided to play along with her or not. "I've been three times. I even saw it with Idina Menzel and Kristen Chenoweth," Abigail was using an almost satirical version of the fake veneer of politeness she'd obviously perfected. Blaine had perfected it too, over the years, and was already starting to shake at the realization that he was about to toss it out the window.

"Me too. Love Wicked. Well… I really like Wicked," he said, starting to sound a little unhinged. "You know who _loves_ Wicked?" He glanced at his father out of the corner of his eye, and, glad he knew Abigail was on his side, very deliberately continued, "My boyfriend. Kurt," he threw a hand up dramatically, a gesture he'd seen Kurt use, but he himself never had. "_Loves it. _He almost got to sing "Defying Gravity" for his school's show choir. He's a counter tenor. He could hit the high F."

Abigail flashed him a hint of a conspiring smirk before locking her politely interested smile back in place. He felt a rush of gratitude toward her when she played along. "Wow, he can hit a high F? That's_ really_ impressive."

"Mmm," Blaine replied, "He's got a beautiful voice. His choir went to the National competition in New York and he actually got the janitor at the Gershwin to let him sing on the Wicked set."

"No he didn't! That's wonderful!"

"Abigail-" Her father starts, but Blaine's father cuts him off.

"Blaine, can I speak to you in the kitchen," his father starts, nothing even resembling a question in the midst of the contained rage of his tone.

"Here, I think I've got a picture," Blaine says, his tone angry as well.

"Blaine."

"Oh, here. This is from when we went to Prom together." Blaine turns the phone toward Abigail.

"Oh, well done, Blaine. He is very handsome."

"Isnt' he? He made the kilt himself. It's an homage to Alexander McQueen._ Isn't it fabulous?_"

"Blaine Anderson, in the kitchen this instant."

"Will you excuse me, Abigail?" Blaine asked.

"Of course," Abigail said. Her voice and the way she dabbed her napkin against the corner of her mouth was textbook etiquette, damaged only by the annoyed way she threw her napkin down to the table. Blaine got up and, just to twist the knife a little harder, ducked his head to Abigail before he walked into the kitchen after his father.

"Blaine Hamilton Anderson, what did I tell you before Mr. Shore and his daughter came over?"

"You didn't tell me that you were trying to set me up with some poor girl who doesn't deserve to be treated like this. She knows I'm gay. She didn't think you were going to try to throw me at her."

"_I told you_ to shut your mouth about all of the," his father dropped his voice for the following word, "_gay_ business for one damn night while we entertained a conservative business contact. "

"This has nothing to do with a business contact. You're trying to set me up with a girl! When I'm gay! When you know I have a boyfriend! When you've met him!"

Blaine had lost all of his snark, all of his cool, all of his angry defiance. The urge to cry, which he knew would only make this conversation worse, surged back up.

"Oh, yes, Blaine. We met him. We talked to him. Have you talked to him?"

"What does that mean?"

"Blaine, what are you doing? This Kurt… he flutters around, he sings soprano, his clothes are ridiculous, he's ridiculous, _he wore a dress to Prom_. Christ, if you're going to date a fairy who's practically a girl why not just go for the real thing and make everything easier for us?"

Blaine stared, dumbfounded and destroyed, at his father for a moment, before hearing himself spew out, "Well, he doesn't seem like a girl when he's fucking me!"

The smack came so fast he didn't even see it. He just felt the flat-of-the-hand shaped sting across his mouth.

Tears finally sprung to his eyes, and when he looked, shocked, back up at his father, he looked back, just as shocked.

"Blaine-" his father started, no anger this time, stepping toward him with his palms out.

"No!" Blaine jumped back, "No! I'm leaving!"

"Blaine, wait-"

"Stay away from me!"

"Blaine, I'm sorry," his father called after him, but Blaine was already charging through the dining room, passing Abigail, looking guilty, her father, looking shocked, and his mother, looking as though she was trying and failing to ignore that anything had happened at all.

"Blaine, I'm sorry!"

"I don't care!" Blaine spat back already yanking open the front door. "It's too late!"

He felt a little childish as he slammed it behind him, but it was immediately chased by feeling like he was justified. His father had hit him. Because he was gay. The last time he had been hit for being gay he had wound up in the hospital and then at a new school. He still had scars from the last time he'd gotten hit for being gay.

He ran to his car, just barely remembering to grab his satchel on his way. He was shaking as his tires screamed out into the night and he took off down the street at what he was vaguely aware was a ridiculous speed for a residential area. But he couldn't bring himself to care.

His father had hit him. And tried to set him with a girl. And called Kurt a fairy.

Oh god. He'd told his father he was having sex with Kurt.

Oh god, what if his father called Mr. Hummel and told him that?

Shit.

And it wasn't even true!

Blaine caught a stop sign out of the corner of his eye and slammed onto the brakes. The car on the other side of the intersection honked at him loudly as it drove past. Blaine took a deep breath. He'd never get all the way to Kurt's without getting himself killed if he didn't calm the hell down.

His father wouldn't come after him with a dinner party to salvage. Hitting your son for screaming about entirely fictional sex with his fairy boyfriend and then having him peel out of the drive way was unforgivable and going after him was not "the done thing".

He had plenty of time to get to Kurt's. His mother would call the Hummel's house after Mr. Shore and Abigail had been apologized to and sent on their way, they would try his cell phone at least three times first. He had time.

He pulled over the side of the road. Breathed in. Breathed out. Pulled his phone out of his pocket so that it wasn't digging uncomfortably into his hip and tossed it into the passenger seat. Made a couple of attempts at pulling his Ipod out of his bag with shaking hands. Plugged it into the usb port in the console. He turned it to his work out mix, needing something that could keep up with his heart beat, cranked it up and drove, starting to cry again as the shock wore off.

He was driving at a sane speed the time he pulled into Kurt's driveway, but he'd stopped noticing the insistent thump-thump-thump-thump from his speakers. He took a moment to shore himself up against what he was about to do. Have to talk to Kurt, have to talk to Carol. Have to explain to Finn. Have to warn Mr. Hummel about what he'd said to his own father and figure out a way to apologize for it.

He set his head against the steering wheel and ran through a couple of ways of explaining something as stupid as 'he doesn't seem like a girl when he's fucking me" to Kurt's father, and was startled out of his skin by a knock on the car door.

He cranked the volume down and opened the door.

"Geez, kid, you trying to break the windows?" Mr. Hummel started, his voice and smile fading out toward the end. "Blaine? What happened? Is Kurt okay?"

Blaine stared at him for a second, pulled his keys out of the car, and stood up, closing the car door behind him as Mr. Hummel watched him warily.

He tried to tell him, tried to lead with "What you need to know first is that it's not true," but couldn't. Mr. Hummel set his hand on Blaine's shoulder and got through "Come on, you're" before Blaine lost his head and hugged him. Hard. "scaring me."

"I'm sorry," Blaine said, letting go. "Kurt's fine… he's not… he's not here?"

Mr. Hummel patted Blaine's shoulder awkwardly, "No. Not here. He and Carol went to the grocery store to pick up a few things."

Blaine fought for some measure of composure. "Right. Okay."

"Come on, let's get you inside."

"My dad's going to call you," Blaine told him blankly as Mr. Hummel steered him inside.

"Okay, Blaine, we'll get to that," Mr. Hummel told him, leading him into the house, a hand still on his shoulder. He took him into the kitchen and let him drop into a kitchen chair. He shut the laptop on the counter, cutting off the tinny little voices coming out of it, before looking around, seeming a little lost.

"Umm…Carol isn't here. Can I get you some tea? Or… you boys drink coffee, don't you. I'll put on a pot."

"I would appreciate that, Mr. Hummel," Blaine said, hearing it come out. Manners by rote. Safe and easy.

"I have mentioned that you can call me Burt, right?"

"Yes, sir." Blaine responded, trying to pull himself together as the scent of coffee wafted over from the counter.

"So…" Mr. Hummel started, dropping down across the table. "What's this about? Cause you are scaring the ever-loving crap out of me."

"My… we were having a dinner party at my house," Blaine started staring down at his hands. "With Mr. Shore and his daughter, Abigail."

"Okay."

"It was… it was a set up?" Blaine tried to explain. "For me. With Abigail." He brought his gaze up to look into Mr. Hummel's questioning eyes. "Ummm… my father… he was… trying to set me up with Abigail. He said…" Blaine took a deep breath. God, he did not want to say this to Kurt's father. "He said, that… "

"What did he say, Blaine?"

"He said if I was going to…" Blaine crossed his arms around himself. "If I was going to date a fairy like Kurt I might as well date a real girl and save everyone the trouble." Blaine spat out. He chanced a look up at Mr. Hummel, whose face had gone rigid. Blaine could see his jaw muscles working angrily.

"And I said… something… totally inappropriate, and untrue, and disrespectful to Kurt and our relationship, and he… he uh-"

"Blaine."

"He hit me."

"He hit you?"

"He umm… it's not… it's not a big deal," Blaine mumbled, betrayed by the way his voice broke over the words. "It didn't even hurt."

Mr. Hummel made a noise, not really a growl, not really an acknowledgement and went to the cupboard. He took out a mug, filled it, grabbed a little teal porcelain sugar bowl that absolutely screamed "Kurt spent hours picking this out" and set them on the table before digging a carton of half and half out of the fridge and setting it next to the mug and the sugar.

Blaine busied himself doctoring his coffee while Mr. Hummel stared past him.

"Okay. And you said your parents are going to call?"

"Not for a while. They'll have to say goodnight to Mr. Shore. They'll call my cell first," Blaine told him.

"Okay."

"I'm sorry," Blaine said, "I didn't know where else to go."

"No. I'm glad you came here." Mr. Hummel said. "Okay. Okay. Are you… are you afraid to go home? Is your dad… is it going to be… dangerous for you to go home?"

Blaine shook his head, "It's not… it's not a big deal. This hasn't happened before. And I was really out of line."

"Blaine, your father was out of line. I'm sure you said some stupid, smartass thing back to him, but he started this."

"It was still unnecessary and innapropri-"

"Blaine, this isn't the Miss America Pageant, you can be… sorry, that's… I didn't mean it like that."

But Blaine snorted. And Mr. Hummel chuckled and then the silence came back.

"Mr. Hummel?"

"Burt."

"Do you ever… if you thought you could… do you wish that-"

"Blaine- I wish that Kurt, and you, had an easier time. Have I ever wished Kurt was straight? Yeah. All the time. When I'm watching the news, and I'm listening to customers toss around words and when I find out some jock threatened to kill him? Yeah. But never because he's…. not for a lot of years because I wished _he wasn't_ gay? Do you understand?"

Blaine nodded.

"And… look- fathers get this image in their heads. What their kid is going to be like. You've got months to have all the fantasies about watching football games and talking about girls and imagining… how they're going to be like you. And then you have the kid, and you count toes, and you count fingers, and you're happy, cause their healthy, and then… with you kids… fifteen, sixteen years later… it's like you have to do that all over again. You have all these new things you have to think about. All these new futures you have to imagine. All these ways that they _aren't_ going to be like you. And… it's hard to give up on those first… ideas of what it was going to be like. It takes a little while to recover."

"I like football. And I've been out as long as Kurt has," Blaine answered. Mr. Hummel nodded.

"Maybe you were more of a shock. With Kurt…" Mr. Hummel rolled his eyes, "It was only three or four years before I started thinking about…reworking a couple of those fantasies about his future."

"The heels for his birthday? He told me," Blaine smiled. "I thought it was adorable."

"Yeah. So did his mother." Burt sighed tapping his fingers on the table.

"When I was six I told my Dad I wanted to be Sleeping Beauty when I grew up. I liked the part where all the animals made a prince out of a cape and boots," Blaine offered, shocked that the usual shiver of embarrassment didn't accompany the admission. "He put me in Tee-Ball."

"You like Tee-Ball?" Mr. Hummel asked.

"No."

The phone rang and Blaine started. Mr. Hummel patted the back of Blaine's hand self consciously.

"Why don't you go up to Kurt's room? He should be home soon."

"I left my phone in the car. I should get it." Blaine said.

"Okay. Go do that."

When Blaine got back inside, his bag in his hand, Mr. Hummel was standing next to the couch with his back to the door.

"No. Blaine stays here tonight…because he's in no condition to drive, and everyone needs time to cool down…Look, Dianne, he came over here having a meltdown because his father insulted him, insulted my kid, and then_ hit_ him. We can talk about this in the morning, but he sleeps here tonight…Fine, put him on the phone... Chester? Burt Hummel."

Blaine closed the door behind him as quietly as possible, as though afraid his father could hear him through the phone.

"…Yes. He told me that you tried to set him up with some girl, and he told me what you called my son, and he told me that you hit him…And Blaine said the same thing, and, this one time, I'm going to believe that you don't smack him around, because I mouthed off to my father once or twice at that age too and he wasn't a patient man, but Blaine still stays here tonight."

Blaine gripped his bag tighter in his hand, suddenly overcome with gladness that he'd hugged Burt earlier tonight.

"He told me that he said some smartass thing…"

And the feeling of warmth turned cold and sunk from Blaine's chest to his stomach as Burt turned around and saw him at the door.

"Christ, that's what he said?"

Blaine wondered if was possible that some god somewhere would take pity on him and let him just disappear off the face of the earth.

"No, it's not true," Burt sighed, putting a hand on his forehead. "Cause Blaine said it wasn't true and I know my kid… Actually yeah, I do trust them…cause they're good kids, Chester…yeah. Yeah, I'll talk to Kurt about it…Yeah, we do. Maybe you should try that. Fine. I will call you after breakfast….Yeah, put her back on… Hi Dianne…Just a second, let me ask him," Mr. Hummel set the phone to his shoulder, "Blaine?"

Blaine jumped. "Yeah?"

"Are you up to talking to your mom?"

Blaine looked at the phone, bit his lip, and shook his head.

"He says no… Dianne, he said no…Okay. I'll have him call in the morning…Goodnight, Dianne." He hung up the phone, pulled his cap up and rubbed the heel of his hand over his head.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel. I swear it's not-"

"Blaine- I can't have this conversation tonight, and I don't need to know."

"Okay… it's just… it's not true. At all. I don't want you to think that Kurt and I… cause we aren't."

"Blaine- I believe you. Okay?"

"Okay. I'm sorry."

He clapped a hand on Blaine's shoulder. "Go upstairs, Blaine."

"Okay."

"And…listen… anything like this ever happens again- you come here? You got it?"

"Got it, Mr. Hummel."

"_Burt_."

Blaine nodded and went upstairs.

* * *

><p>Burt sighed, opened the fridge, closed the fridge, then opened it again, and took out a beer. When Kurt got home he would probably be too distracted to go through his usual speech about Burt's heart and the calories, and Burt felt like he deserved this one. He popped the cap off, took a deep swig and leaned back against the counter.<p>

He loved Carol. She was wonderful, and she made him happy. She made him laugh and she made him feel like the hole that had been cut into him when Lizzie died was filling back in. She made him feel whole in a way he hadn't felt in years and she (and Finn) had made this house feel like a home.

But sitting at the table with Blaine, watching him fight so hard to seem adult and mature and just a little upset instead of utterly devastated that his father had never actually been able to accept him… Burt hadn't wanted to be there. And when he had imagined leaving Blaine at the table with someone who was better at this kind of stuff than he was, he hadn't pictured Kurt, hugging his boyfriend and telling him it would be okay. He hadn't pictured Carol, shoving a glass of milk and a pile of cookies toward him and telling him that his father would come around and maybe they should invite Blaine's parents over for dinner some time.

He had pictured Lizzie, in the white sundress with little red roses on it that she used to wear on days when it was too hot for makeup. He had pictured her clear blue eyes, so much like Kurt's that sometimes it still stung a little, watching Blaine intently as he told her everything, like a goddamn crushed seventeen year old kid would, not like Blaine had talked to him, his voice held together with string while he tried to pretend he was okay, adding a detail here and there, trying to make the fact that his father had called Kurt… that, sound like it was just one of those things.

He had pictured Lizzie, kissing Blaine on the forehead, and telling him, like she used to tell Kurt, that only people who were different ever shined. That she loved him so much and that she wouldn't have him any other way. Then she'd brush her thumb over Blaine's cheek, and say, just like she always said, like Burt had had to hear her tell Kurt so many times "Shh… no more tears now."

That's what this Blaine kid had needed, not Burt's clumsy attempt to tell him that acceptance of something you didn't understand wasn't always easy, and Burt's overly honest admission that yes- he'd had the fantasy of girls and football for Kurt and it was hard to let that go, no matter how much he just wanted his son to be happy. Not Burt's awkward hand patting and grim smile.

He had done his best, he told himself.

No one had prepared him for this.

He told himself that every time he had one of these awkward stumbling conversations. He was making this all up as he went along, and as much as he wanted to pretend that would have been true even if Finn had been his only biological kid, it wasn't. When Finn came home with problems, Burt had some guideline on how to act and what to say. Burt had some relevant experience, or a friend with relevant experience, or even an anecdote from his own father to draw from. With Kurt everything was just made the hell up.

Burt felt a slight sting at the corners of his eyes and blinked hard, taking another gulp of his beer, startling a little bit at the sound of the front door opening. Burt went out in the living room, and saw Kurt peering out of the foyer.

"Hi, Dad," Kurt said jerking his thumb toward the door behind him. "Blaine's car is outside."

"Oh. Yeah. He's up in your room," Burt replied. Before he realized he was doing it, Burt wrapped his arms around Kurt's shoulders, and squeezed him a little bit. Behind Kurt, Carol gave them both a concerned look. "I love you, Kurt. You know that, right?"

Kurt huffed out a sound somewhere between annoyance and disappointment, "Dad… you're only supposed to have one beer." He hugged back. "But, yeah. I know that. What's going on?" At the worry in Kurt's voice, Burt let him go.

"This is the only beer I've had all week, I swear," Burt said. "And uh… Blaine's up in your room. He… I'll let him give you the details. He got into a fight with his father. He was upset and he came here to see you."

Kurt pursed his lips and nodded, just once, hard, before he pulled his bag in front of himself, like a shield.

"They got into a fight about me, didn't they?" Kurt asked, pulling in on himself quietly.

"Honey," Carol started.

"I think you were just the tip of the iceberg," Burt told him, hating the way that Kurt clenched his jaw and looked up at the ceiling for a moment, steeling himself.

"Okay," he sighed to himself, swinging his bag back behind him before marching directly up the stairs, as though going to meet the hangman.

Burt felt the prickling in his eyes again, and took another swig of his beer.

"What happened?" Carol asked, twining her fingers in his.

Burt blew out a breath, and trying not to wish for a kiss on the forehead, told her.


	16. I Don't Feel Brave Tonight Part Three

Up until the announcement, Puck had figured that the most epic part of the night would be never _quite_ remembering how he had wound up onstage with a guitar, four drag queens singing back up, and a basket of free buffalo wings, belting out a totally rad acoustic rendition of "Bad Romance" for an adoring crowd.

But then the decision had been made, word had spread, and everyone was jumping and screaming and cheering. Three guys proposed and free beer started flowing.

Infinity and history hit him hard, and overcome with a feeling like prophecy, Puck grabbed his guitar in one hand and his mic in the other.

* * *

><p>"Oh hells to the yes, motherfuckers!" Santana crowed, taking a gulp from her glass, which was theoretically a seven and seven, but at some point in the evening had become more of a fourteen on the whiskey side.<p>

She held her hand out for Dave to high five, which he did, hard enough that he spilled his own drink, which was tequila. And red. He forgot. Santana had given him a scathing looking in reply to his earlier request for beer and he'd been drinking whatever she gave him all night.

"Motherfucking is actually an approved Republican pastime, provided it's not your own mother," Dave replied.

"You're a nerd when you're drunk, Karofsky."

"I am not drunk!" Dave laughed, even though he so, so was. Somewhere on the fuzzy edges of his brain he was worried about that. Santana's parents were going to be home later tonight. Like… one-ish and if it was nine-ish now… that was… not long enough. Probably. "No… hey. Wait. I'm not a nerd."

"New York!" Santana yelled, high fiving him again.

"_You're_ drunk."

"Yes, I is," Santana replied cheerfully.

"So that's… that's six right? New York, Massachusetts, Connectic…conn-et-ti-cut, Vermont what's the other one?"

"It's Iowa… so whatever. "

"Iowa. That's so weird."

Santana shrugged. "Whatever. Who cares who the neighbors are fucking when there's miles of nothing but corn and cows and fuck all between you?"

"I bet that's why," Dave nodded. That made sense. "Wait… that's only five… what's the other one?"

Santana chewed her lip. "I don't remember. East coast."

"Shit. This is going to drive me nuts," Dave sighed. "So… New York, do you think you'd ever… you know…"

"No one's trying to put a ring on this but you, baby," Santana told him, jazz handing her left hand at him. Dave snorted. Okay. He _loved_ drunk Santana.

"No, I mean, you went there. Could you live there?"

"Oh totally," Santana told him.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Totally. Lilve la vie bohlem," she stuck her tongue out, blew a raspberry and tried again, "La vie Boheme."

"What's that?"

"The starving artist life. We needs to get your Rent on, Riff."

"You and Kurt can make me a gay 101 curricalum.. carlicu…. Book and movie list. I'll study."

"How about you? New York?" Santana asked, eyeing her emptying glass.

"Maybe… I've got a couple books from colleges at NYU, but it's… I don't know. I've never been outside of Lima… I'm afraid of getting in over my head." Dave shook his head and handed her his glass. He had to drive sometime tonight.

"You should go and get your big city fabulous on."

"Six hours away, it's on the list."

Santana stuck her tongue out at him. "And it's legal! You could go find sweet ass park bench boy and make rocking state-sanctioned lov-"

"Santana!" Dave cut her off, "Come on… don't…"

It was a little less terrifying to contemplate, drunk on Santana's couch, than it had been at the park today, with a guy actually _looking_ at him, but still.

"Okay, sorry. That's right, baby, we aren't talking about 'the sex' yet. I take it back."

"It's not about sex. Why do I put up with you?" Dave asked.

"Because I'm your best friend," Santana supplied ruthlessly.

"Right. That." Dave rolled his eyes obscenely. "I'm going to have to work on that in college."

Santana snorted, swayed into him and kissed his shoulder before she swayed back away.

"So what about you? Where are you escaping too?"

"I haven't thought about it that much."

"_You_ haven't thought about leaving Ohio?"

Santana shrugged and raked her hair back from her face. "I've thought about it, I just don't have a stack of brochures hidden under my bed like porn. I don't… I guess I could leave, but I don't know what I'd want when I got… where ever I went."

"You can borrow my brochures. We could go to college together!" Dave slurred happily. That would be awesome, him and Santana. He grabbed her arms and pulled her closer, and she laughed. "No, it'll be awesome," Dave insisted. "You can… we'll live in the same dorm and go to parties together and there's… I found some colleges on the west coast that have Glee Clubs."

"We could be in Glee Club together!"

"Far, far away from here."

"Yeah."

There was a little pause. Santana pulled away.

"And we'd… our facebooks could still say that we're in a relationship with each other."

"And… we could… we wouldn't have to find new beards," Dave said, a thought beginning to occur to him.

Santana's face fell. "And we could… just… lie for four years."

"And then… after that-"

_What?_ Dave wondered. Go to college… stay in the closet, always keep Santana around as a safety blanket and never ever be able to tell anyone the truth?

"Lie forever," Santana said. She sounded confused. No. Surprised.

"Yeah," Dave nodded. "That's… what we could do."

Santana looked at him, flopped back against the couch and closed her eyes. "Tap our feet." She said quietly. Dave lay back next to her.

"Kurt and Blaine are going out to New York together," Santana told him.

Dave set his head on her shoulder. "My dad said he didn't see the harm. Of all those people being able to get married in New York. He said that. To me. At breakfast."

"My mom didn't," Santana said throatily.

"Maybe six hours isn't far enough," Dave sighed. Santana nodded. "Vancouver's got an awesome hockey team."

Santana snorted and grabbed her glass, still with a few sips in it. She raised it to Dave.

"Legal in New York!" she cheered again, taking a sip and handing him the glass.

"Legal in New York," he agreed finishing it off.

* * *

><p>Blaine had been sobbing, curled up against Kurt's headboard with his forehead on his knees when Kurt had gotten up to his room. It had taken time to get him to calm down. Kurt had sat on his bed, letting Blaine pace and rage and cry, jumping back and forth between everything that his father had done tonight to everything that his father had done this summer. Wondering out loud if his mother had known why Abigail had come to dinner.<p>

"I just…was it just stupid to think that maybe they had gotten over it? I mean… we were talking about it. We talked about you. I told them about Prom, they let me go with you even after what-" he clenched his fists and dropped them to his sides "Maybe I should have just… maybe forcing dinner was too much. I should have just gotten over the fact that they didn't want to-"

Kurt got off the bed, strode over and grabbed Blaine's hands.

"Hey. No," he said quietly. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Blaine snorted and dropped his head down. His fists relaxed into Kurt's hands. Fighting all of his own instincts to wrap up, separate, wall up, keep safe and contained when he was upset, Kurt leaned his forehead into Blaine's. "You haven't done anything wrong."

Kurt took another step into Blaine's space, and wrapped his arms around him, letting Blaine collapse gratefully against him, shocked at how good this felt, even though it didn't feel quite as safe as pulling inside himself. "Shh."

He rubbed little circles against Blaine's back until Blaine pulled back hesitantly, snuffled, then dropped sideways onto the bed. Kurt settled onto the other side.

Blaine looked awful. Puffy red eyes, drippy red nose. His voice was rough and throaty and he looked like a crumbling, heart broken mess. And after hearing the whole story, Kurt couldn't imagine how he could be anything else.

Kurt hadn't realized that he had still been clinging, just a little, to his first impression of Blaine as a confident, capable, out and proud…. superhero. Blaine had been his superhero through months of torture at McKinley, his guide through months of culture shock at Dalton and Kurt had thought that before they had started dating he was starting to let that go and just see Blaine as just another seventeen year old gay kid in Ohio, a little geeky, with a tendency to leap before he looked.

But seeing Blaine like this, and worse not being able to help at all, was just terrible.

"Just... he just… he _won't _understand!" Blaine started again. "And I thought he was trying. He came to dinner to meet you and he… we weren't all pretending anymore… and_ this_. It's just…" Blaine choked again and Kurt scooted nearer to him on his pillows, so that their sides were touching.

"I know. I'm sorry. I… just… I wish I could make this better. I don't know what to do."

Blaine rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes and turned over so that his face was pressed into Kurt's chest. Blaine reached awkwardly behind himself, grabbed Kurt's hand and pulled it around his back.

"Just… do this, okay?" Blaine said quietly, sniffling again. Kurt squeezed him tight and at another flash of those instincts he was starting to develop around Blaine, scooted a little further down on the bed and rested his cheek on top of Blaine's head, barely thinking about how much pore-clogging product might end up on his face. Blaine sighed and wrapped his own arm around Kurt's chest.

He could feel the weight of Blaine's head on his chest, the weight of _Blaine_ in his arms and it was different somehow. He sighed and let his fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of Blaine's neck.

Both of their phones dinged from the nightstand.

"Our phones were going nuts for like ten minutes before you got home," Blaine said thickly. "I didn't answer them."

"They must have made a decision in New York," Kurt said quietly. "That's what we get for being Ohio's gay mascots."

Blaine snorted half heartedly, tangling his fingers in Kurt's shirt.

"Should I check?"

"Yeah."

"What if it's bad news?"

"Then it'll still be bad news when we check later."

Kurt stretched his arm out over his nightstand and grabbed his phone, then Blaine's, dropping it down next to his side. Blaine didn't reach for it and Kurt swiped his own phone open.

"Mercedes texted me a smiley face and Sam texted me an exclamation point," Kurt said. "They are getting similar. Tina's is just a big long "yes" and a bunch of exclamation points. Mike's says "Heard the news" with a smiley face. And I have a missed call from Rachel… and a voicemail from Puck?"

"We should probably listen to that. I'm worried about him. In the last message he sent me he called me his spirit guide and they do a lot of drugs in that book."

"I'm going to regret this," Kurt sighed. He opened his voicemail and put his phone on speaker. There were a few seconds of voices and shuffling in the background, then Puck's voice.

"Okay, guys, it went to voice mail. Kurt and Blaine! I'm calling to wish you congratulations from me and this awesome gay bar in Minneapolis." There was a little cheer and Puck laughing into the phone. "A one two three four!

A chorus of voices swelled so loud that the words couldn't be distinguished at first, then Kurt recognized the tune.

"…Married in the morning!

Ding-Dong the bells are gonna chime!

Pull out the stopper! Let's have a whopper!

Just get me to the church on time!"

Puck, and what was apparently an entire Minnesotan gay bar, sang another verse before Puck shouted "I love you guys!" to them and something that sounded like "Free hot wings, bitches!" hopefully to someone else, and hung up.

Kurt and Blaine laid in stunned silence for a moment.

"Blaine?"

"Yeah, Kurt?"

"Please don't ever lend Puck a book again."

Blaine nuzzled into Kurt's chest. "But now I want to know what would happen if he read Alice in Wonderland. Or Harry Potter."

"Based on the "On The Road" debacle? I'm guessing get sorted into Gryffindor, burn down the Astronomy Tower, and knock up something from the Forbidden Forest," Kurt sighed.

Blaine coughed out a laugh, snucked up snot in a truly gross way, and hugged him tight, "Kurt Hummel is a nerd. That's the best," he said, his tone light, but the tears still in his voice.

"No I'm not," Kurt said levelly, rubbing his hands up into the hair at the nape of Blaine's neck.

"Is it weird that I'm starting to really like Puck?" Blaine asked.

"He has a certain appeal."

Blaine was quiet for a moment. "So it passed."

"Sounds like it."

"One more place to be just like real people." Blaine sounded bitter and hard and cynical. Like him. Kurt squeezed him tighter.

"I should probably warn you now that I'm going to be impossible when pictures start coming out," Kurt said, aiming for airy.

"Pictures?"

"Like they did in Massachusetts? I'm going to be impossible."

"Impossible mocking everyone's outfit or impossible choking up at adorable old people?"

"Both. A lot."

Blaine huffed out a little laugh and Kurt massaged his fingers more firmly into Blaine's scalp.

"Okay. I'm going to get my spare pajamas out for you and go make us some chamomile tea while you change. Then you get to pick out any movie you want."

"Okay," Blaine agreed, sitting up and rubbing the heel of his hand into his eyes. Kurt went to his dresser. He reached across to his vanity and tossed Blaine the box of Kleenexes, then opened his drawer and pulled out his spare pajamas. He set them on the bedspread next to Blaine, leaned down to kiss his forehead and slipped downstairs.

Carol and his father were talking quietly in the kitchen. Carol saw him come in and jumped up from the table, rushing over to him.

His back stiffened as she hugged him, and his father pursed his lips at what Kurt imagined was probably an alarmed look on his face, but usually he had more pre-hug warning than this.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. How's he doing?"

She let him go and Kurt shrugged. "He's calmed down but he's a mess. I'm going to make us some tea and we're going to just… sit with a movie."

He turned toward the cupboard, but Carol beat him there. "Here. I'll make you boys tea. You just… go watch a movie with Blaine. What kind?"

"Chamomile," Kurt answered. "Umm… thank you. I'll just… I go get the blankets and sheets for the couch for later then."

Carol set her hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry about it."

"It's fine, Carol, I can… I'm giving him moment right now, I can go get the couch ready for him."

"No…Kurt, under the circumstances if he wants to sleep in your room, that's fine."

Kurt looked at her, then to his father, whose jaw was set, but not in the way he would have expected.

"That's not… innapropriate?" Kurt asked, marveling at how level his voice sounded.

"Not tonight." His father shrugs.

"Oh," Kurt said not sure if he was grateful at how much his family seemed to get this, or if he was worried about what they thought would or wouldn't happen.

"Just… remember that part of the reason this is okay is because you've both been mature and responsible," his father sighed. "And make sure that you tell Blaine that too."

"Right. Um. Thank you. I think… I think we need that."

His dad nodded with his "Long-Suffering Dad" look and Kurt almost hugged him.

"And Kurt?" Carol said, turning the heat up under the kettle. "New York legalized."

She beamed at him and Kurt felt himself almost starting to tear up, somewhere between burning joy at how lucky he was and crushing sadness at how lucky Blaine wasn't.

"Yeah," Kurt said steadily, taking a breath. If someone hugged him again he was going to cry. Tonight was just way too much. "Everyone we know texted us and Puck called with a chorus to serenade us."

"A chorus?"

"Yeah… apparently he is eating free hot wings at a gay bar in Minneapolis."

Carol shook her head. "I worry about him. He is such a sweet kid… for a delinquent."

"Where is his mother?" Kurt's dad asked.

Carol looked up at him, her mouth tight and shook her head. "She's… Puck was never really her focus."

"Oh."

"I'll bring this up when it's ready," Carol said. "I'll bring the honey up too."

Kurt smiled at her, and apparently on a roll for the night, stepped forward and hugged her. She squeezed him around the chest and he went back upstairs.

* * *

><p>In other circumstances, Blaine would have thought that wearing Kurt's spare pajamas should be sexy. They were probably the only article of Kurt's clothing that he would ever wind up borrowing, considering how much longer and slimmer Kurt was than he was, and just how… <em>Kurt<em>… Kurt's clothes were.

Kurt probably looked elegant and old-world in button up satin pajamas. Blaine looked like some kind of carefully a-sexualized live-action actor in a child's cartoon. That, on top of the fact that he did not have Kurt's ability to wear three layers of clothing in one-layer-of-clothing-weather, combined with the other fact that Blaine's face was still puffy and gross and he was so stuffed up from crying that he couldn't breath, like at all, was destroying the potential sexiness of this for him.

He unbuttoned the pajama top, draped it over the back of Kurt's vanity chair and pulled his undershirt back on.

There was a knock at the door. "Blaine?"

"Yeah, come in."

"Hey," Kurt said softly. "So… Carol is making us tea. Did you pick a movie?"

"Umm… yeah. Do you have Moulin Rouge?"

Kurt's mouth quirked up just a little, so that he looked less like he was visiting Blaine on his deathbed. "Blaine Warbler, just who do you think you're talking too?" he mocked gently.

"Right." Blaine said. Kurt flitted around the room, getting the movie and his computer set up. Blaine sat down on the bed and let Kurt have some space for a second. He basically wanted to bury his face in Kurt's chest and cry for the rest of the night, but that was a lot to ask. Blaine didn't want to smother him. He'd be happy enough lounging with Kurt until he had to go downstairs.

With the movie set up, Kurt grabbed his own, almost identical except for the different colored piping, pajamas out of his dresser, closed his bedroom door, and slipped into his closet to change.

"Are you sure it's okay for us to keep the door closed?" Blaine asked, the words 'he doesn't seem like a girl when he's fucking me" still burning in his ears.

"I don't think it's going to be an issue tonight," Kurt said uncertainly. "Actually… Dad and Carol said that you could… that you could sleep up here with me tonight. Dad said to make sure you knew it was because we've been mature and responsible."

Blaine felt the tears threatening at the corner of his eyes. Kurt's family had chosen tonight of all nights to trust them.

"Oh." Blaine managed.

"I mean… you don't have to if you don't want to. It's just an option. If you need some space I compl-"

"No. I want to stay up here with you," Blaine cut him off. Because… yes. Of course he wanted to stay up here with Kurt. "And… no agenda. You know that right?"

Kurt stepped out of the closet, looking precisely as elegant as Blaine had expected him too.

"I know that," Kurt said softly, settling down next to Blaine on the edge of the bed. He tickled a kiss against Blaine's ear and Blaine fought the urge to just collapse into his side.

"Just… I should probably tell you something."

"I already know that you snore," Kurt told him lightly.

"No… Kurt, my father… my father said something terrible about you and my response was…very disrespectful. About you. And… I don't…"

Kurt turned back to him and grabbed one of Blaine's balled up hands out of his lap.

"What does this have to do with you sleeping up here?"

"I… okay. It doesn't mean anything, and we don't have to talk about it… and I'm sorry."

"Blaine, calm down."

"My father said... his justification for setting me up with a girl was that…" tears started back up and Blaine wished this night was just over so he didn't have to feel like such a mess anymore, "he said you were so close to a girl that I might as well try the real thing."

"Oh," Kurt replied, his face carefully blank. "Well… I get that all the time."

"You are not a girl," Blaine said, sounding angrier than he'd thought he would.

"I'd noticed," Kurt replied dryly.

"You know that's not how I think of you, right? I don't think you're feminine or girly or… whatever."

"Blaine, it's alright. I've referred to myself as an honorary girl at least three times this week."

"No! But… you're…" Blaine couldn't think of a way to explain why he was so upset over this. It was all muddled up with the time it had felt good to kiss Rachel and how he knew that Kurt liked big manly football players and how he had always felt just a little…shame probably, about liking… _traditionally gay _guys… like Kurt. He liked Kurt's voice and the way he carried himself and how slim he was and how passionate he got about musicals and Lady Gaga and fashion and how brave he was to be so out there all the time with everything he did from trying out for the football team to claiming his Prom Queen crown.

"Blaine," Kurt said quietly, gripping Blaine's hands tighter. "Blaine, it's fine. I know who I am. I don't care what your father said. You didn't say it. You don't think it. It's not important."

"I was so _mad_," Blaine sighed, closing his eyes as Kurt traced his thumb over Blaine's knuckles. "And I just, I wanted him to _get it _and I wanted to make him angry and uncomfortable and I… I made it sound like we… like we had… I made it sound like you were_ topping_ me on a regular basis," Blaine finally forced out. Kurt's thumb stopped moving.

"What?"

Blaine opened his eyes but didn't look up. "We said we weren't going to talk about sex, and we don't have to, I just thought that you should know, because my father told your father that I said that and… he believed me, your Dad did, that we aren't… but I didn't want you not to have any warning."

"Oh."

Blaine looked up. Kurt's eyebrows were high on his face, his lips were slightly parted, his ears were bright pink edging toward red.

"I umm… I didn't realize that was how you wan-"

"I don't know. I just guess I just… I like the… I wan- I think I want-"

"You know what?" Kurt said, his voice high and just a little squeaky, but firm. He cupped Blaine's chin in his hand. "My dad clearly doesn't think you meant anything by it. This was already the most awkward part of the sex talk he cornered me with, so I don't think we'll have to sit down and have this discussion again. And you and I already agreed not to worry about this yet. Let's talk about this some other time, when you aren't so upset, and tonight let's just… watch a movie. Get some sleep."

Blaine felt his shoulders untwist, almost painfully fast. He leaned forward and brushed a kiss to Kurt's lips.

"I wish I hadn't lied about you like that. I feel bad."

"I forgive you. You need to relax. Come here." Kurt laid back against his headboard and smiled softly. Blaine scooted over next to him.

"No, come here," Kurt said holding his hand up in front of his chest and beckoning with his fingers.

Blaine hesitated, this seemed a little cuddly for Kurt, but it was exactly what he wanted. He moved over and carefully set his back to Kurt's chest, sinking back against him when Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine's stomach.

* * *

><p>"Okay. I can't drive like this. I am trashed." Dave sighed, slumping back against the couch. He had stopped drinking an hour ago, but was not sobering up as much as he had hoped too.<p>

"Yay," Santana said, yawning hugely. Dave could feel the way her jaw cracked against his thigh.

"No. Not yay. We have like… not a lot of time before your parents are supposed to be home."

"So?"

"So," Dave pulled the half empty bottle of tequila out of her hand and set it on the end table. "Your parents will flip if we're wasted on your couch when they get home and I have to call my brother to come get me."

"Boo. Your brother is the worst."

"I know, come on, get up."

Santana groaned in protest as Dave lifted her teeny tiny frame off of his leg. She flopped onto her back, and flung her arm off the couch with a loud "Owwwww" when it clunked against the coffee table. "So what are you going to tell him we did all night?"

Right. He couldn't exactly tell his brother that he was in the middle of a marriage equality celebration drunk with his big lesbian beard.

"Pssshhh," Dave shrugged. "That we hung out. Got drunk. I loved you up."

Santana snorted. "You what?"

"I got all up in your business. Your lady business."

"You are so gay when you're drunk."

"No I'm not."

"No straight guy says "Lady business". Where did you even hear that?"

"I don't know. You probably. Somewhere between "Sweet Lady Kisses" and "Scissoring" and "Getting Your Cuddle On" ."

"It's been a long summer. I could use some sweet lady scissoring," Santana sighed lifting her hand back up, hitting it on the coffee table again, and covering her eyes.

"Sorry. Can't help you with that," Dave lifted the edge of the coffee table and moved it across the rug so she couldn't hit her hand again then dug his phone out of his pocket.

"What about you?" Santana asked. "Are we going to talk about your freak out about the dude today?"

"What are you even talking about?" Dave asked, as he finally managed to click on the right name in his address book.

"Umm… you're terrified of sex?"

"I'm not terrified of sex, Santana."

"Whatever. You freaked out. And that guy was hot."

"Hey Davey. What's up?" Dave heard in his ear.

"Hot Hot Hot!" Santana cheered in the background.

Dave sighed, reached over and pressed his hand over Santana's mouth, ignoring her when she started licking it.

"Mark? I need you to come pick me up. I am way to drunk to drive and Santana's parents could be home soon."

His brother laughed at him, crowed at him really. Which he'd been expecting for getting caught drunk in his girlfriend's house, but was just too drunk to deal with. He was tired, and dizzy and a little sick, and still needed to deal with his brother when all he really wanted to do was pass out on any available surface in Santana's house.

He gave Mark directions, and hung up.

"I'm gonna move my hand," Dave said to Santana, "and then I'm gonna wipe it off on your pants, and if you shut up about this tonight, we'll talk about it later."

Santana rolled her eyes hugely, which was about as close as she ever got to a yes anyway.

"We're gonna talk about this," she declared.

"Fine. We're gonna talk about this. If you remember. But you are very drunk," he slid his hands under her arms and lifted her up. "And you need to go to bed. Okay? Let me just get you a glass of water, and get you in bed."

"Chh. Wanky."

"Uh huh. Stay here. On the couch."

It took him a really long time to find a glass in Santana's kitchen and get it full of water. Then he knocked it over and had to start over, and had to find her some ice. And then he drank half of it and had to refill it.

Santana was mostly asleep when he brought it out to her and he had to shake her a little bit to get her to take the glass. She drank a little bit of the water and then laid back against the couch again.

"Come on. Let's get you upstairs."

"Nope. Too far." Santana protested.

Dave lifted her under the arms, surprised at how light she was.

"Hey, come on, lift up your knees so I can carry you."

She groaned but she did it. Dave caught her under her knees.

She wasn't hard to carry, she didn't move, she didn't weigh quite enough to throw off his balance.

"Over did it," she huffed as Dave set her on her feet in front of her bedroom door.

"Yeah, ya did," Dave agreed. She looked up at him as she opened her door and he was shocked to see that there were tear streaks down her face.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"It's just so fucking far away," she spat.

"New York? I know. Isn't that the point?" Dave asked.

"No. _It_," Santana said, stumbling into her room.

"What?"

"_Everything,_" she clarified, pulling her top off suddenly. Dave took a step back and decided to just go for patronizing comfort, stirring up Santana was never a good idea and Mark should be here soon.

"Yeah, I know."

Santana dropped her pants to the ground and stepped out of them, stumbling a little. Dave caught her elbow and steadied her.

"Another year of fucking high school, in this fucking town. With these fucking people. Just… fucking… like this." She reached behind herself and undid her bra. Dave stared determinedly up at the ceiling. "It would've been easy you know. Top cheerleader. Football champ. Would've been easy."

"Yeah. I know that."

"Sucks," Santana sighed.

"Do you need me to help you find something to sleep in?"

"Too hot," Santana replied. There was "fwump" noise and Dave chanced a look down below the moldings. Santana was in her bed, arms wrapped around a pillow. Dave sighed and grabbed the sheet wadded up at the foot of her bed and pulled it over her.

"Brittany was easy," Santana sighed. "Had her, didn't have to think about it. Just… had what I needed," she dropped her face into her pillow. "Fell in love with her. Couldn't handle it. Should've…. Should've gone to prom with her."

Dave reached out and rubbed his hand over Santana's bare shoulder, surprised again at how everything about her was so soft.

"You know you couldn't have. Look at what happened to Kurt."

"Not because of Blaine," Santana sighed. "What time is it in Iceland?"

"No, Santana. Don't make me take your phone."

She lifted her head up long enough to glare at him, but dropped her face back down to her pillow. "You're right."

The doorbell rang.

"Okay. That's Mark. I'm gonna go. Are you okay? Do you need, like a bucket or something?"

"Mmnnn" Santana replied.

Dave sighed, went downstairs, let Mark in and ignored him laughing while he grabbed Santana the glass of water, hid the half empty bottles in her room and then grabbed the little garbage can out of the bathroom and set it by her bed.

"Night, Dave," she muttered when he rubbed her shoulder again.

"Night, Santana."

* * *

><p>Kurt was vaguely aware of something moving against his forehead, but he couldn't tell if he was dreaming it or not. He reached up and tried to swat it away, but something caught his fingers. He woke up a little more, enough to identify something warm around his hand.<p>

"Shhh," he heard.

Right. Blaine was here. That was nice. Blaine was nice.

A moment passed, the warmth left his fingers and Kurt started to sink back to sleep. The motion against his forehead woke him again.

"What are you doing?" he murmured.

"Umm," Blaine said quietly, the motion against Kurt's forehead stilling again.

Kurt opened his eyes and found himself staring into Blaine's. It was dark in his room. The light from the streetlamp peeked through the blinds, causing a dot of orange in Blaine's eyes and casting just enough light to make out Blaine's features. His strong jaw and his still puffy eyes.

Right. That's why Blaine was here.

"Are you petting me?" Kurt asked.

Blaine bit his lip and moved forward a little bit, taking his hand from Kurt's forehead and setting it against Kurt's ribs.

"A little?"

Kurt shifted a little, pulling himself into Blaine's warm embrace.

"Sometimes I wish I'd just kissed you on that staircase," Blaine added, after such a long pause that Kurt was most of the way back to sleep. "Just taken those two steps up and kissed you."

"Sometimes I wish that too," Kurt said, setting his forehead against Blaine's. Blaine tilted his chin forward, pressing their lips together for a moment. They felt warmer than usual. It was weird.

"I'm sorry I was so clueless. I'm sorry I didn't ask you on Valentine's Day."

"It's okay. I'm glad you didn't kiss me until I felt like myself again."

"I meant what I said. Even then, I really cared about you. I've always really cared about you. Even when I finally did kiss you I was terrified of screwing things up. I'm still terrified of screwing things ups." He pressed their lips together again. "You are so much braver than me."

"You're just as brave as I am."

"I don't feel brave tonight."

Their faces were so close that Kurt could feel Blaine's breath, still minty from Kurt's mouthwash, ghosting over his lips.

"You don't have to be brave anymore tonight. Tonight you stay at my house, and you stay with me and you recuperate. You can be brave tomorrow. If you want to." Kurt wrapped his arm around Blaine's back.

"I don't care what my parents think. I need you."

"Shhh," Kurt said. "You've got me. You've got me."

Their pajama bottoms slid against each other as Blaine pulled their bodies even closer together, so that they weren't just flush, they were pressing into each other. The heat of Blaine's body was radiating through the thin fabric. They were so close Kurt had to pull his head back a little bit in order to kiss Blaine again.

"I love you," Kurt told him.

"I love you too," Blaine responded, kissing him back.

They kissed sleepily, calmly, chastely even, pressed together like they were afraid they'd be torn apart before Blaine's breath hitched, and he leaned back a little bit, pulling Kurt with him. Blaine's mouth opened to him, and suddenly everything was desperate and necessary.

Kurt shifted himself farther on top of Blaine. Blaine opened his legs, letting Kurt sink down between them. Blaine's arms wrapped around Kurt's shoulders, pulling him closer, trapping his chest against Blaine's, his lips against Blaine's, so that all he could do was kiss into the throaty little noises that Blaine was making. Blaine arched up into him at the same moment that Kurt rocked down, and Blaine moaned.

"Shhh," Kurt said, twisting his head to the side to try and get some air. "Shh, we can't get caught. We'll be in so much trouble."

"Sorry," Blaine panted, already arching back up, setting his hand at Kurt's waist and running it down his hip.

Kurt pulled back out of the kiss. Blaine followed his lips for a moment before dropping his head back down onto the pillow. He shook his head like a wet dog and gripped Kurt's elbow tightly. Kurt set his hands at Blaine's waist, squeezing just a little as he tried to catch his breath and tamp down the overwhelming feeling of _want_ that had somehow sparked up in him so fast.

"Kurt-"

Kurt shushed him again, and lifted himself up. Blaine dropped his hands onto the bed.

"Sorry. We… we're supposed to be responsible."

"Blaine, hush."

Kurt slipped his hands under Blaine's shirt and pushed it up. Blaine let out a shaky breath as Kurt shoved his hands underneath Blaine's shoulders and tried to lift him up to sitting before running his hands up to lift Blaine's arms and pull the shirt off. He ran his hands over Blaine's surprisingly hairy stomach and Blaine collapsed backward on his bed.

Yes, he'd sort of thought about this part. Blaine shirtless, touching Blaine like this, but the details were starting to sink into his glossy little fantasy. The burning warmth of Blaine's skin, the coarseness of Blaine's chest hair, different from his own, against his palms.

Blaine watched him with wide eyes as Kurt threw the blanket back off the bed. Kurt sucked in a deep breath before tucking his thumbs under Blaine's waistband. Blaine made a surprised noise in the back of his throat, but lifted his hips, letting Kurt peel the borrowed pajama pants that made Blaine look so ridiculously old fashioned down his legs. They looked thick and compact and strong in the soft orange glow from the distant streetlight. Kurt was surprised at how huge the difference between seeing Blaine running around in his ratty khaki board shorts and seeing Blaine panting in his black boxer briefs in Kurt's bed was. He set his palms over Blaine's thighs, warm like his stomach. Hairy like his stomach.

God, Blaine was all boy like this.

Blaine looked up at him and grabbed the bottom button of Kurt's pajamas. Kurt started at the top and tossed the shirt away when their hands met and tangled in the middle. Blaine grabbed his shoulder and pulled him down for a kiss, wrapping his arms around Kurt's back again as Kurt pressed their bodies together.

Blaine was harder than Kurt had ever felt him and the fact that Kurt _could_ feel him like this, hardly any barrier between them, the heat of Blaine's skin burning against his own, the hardness of Blaine's cock against his own, made Kurt much too aware of those three layers of cloth. They didn't feel safe anymore, they didn't feel like a guardrail anymore, they felt _in the way_.

He was about to mention this when Blaine pushed him onto his back, grabbed the waist of Kurt's pajama pants and tugged them down over his hips. Kurt kicked them the rest of the way off, and when Blaine pulled him back to his side for a kiss, Kurt grabbed the waistband of Blaine's underwear. Blaine broke the kiss, panted against Kurt's lips for a moment, and just when Kurt thought he'd pushed too far, that he should have asked or made sure that Blaine was _sure_, or maybe, considering how much had happened tonight, going to say no, Kurt felt Blaine's hand run down his side, and grab his own underwear.

None of the angles worked with both of them laying on their sides, their elbows knocking into each other as each fought with the other's underwear. Finally Kurt grabbed Blaine's hands and gently guided them away, dropped onto his back and shimmying out of his own underwear while Blaine did the same.

Kurt rolled back to kiss Blaine, but Blaine pushed back, settling Kurt back on the bed, Blaine partially draped over his side. Blaine gripped his side tightly as he kissed him, ran his hand down Kurt's stomach and set his palm over the crease of Kurt's thigh.

"Kurt?"

Kurt sucked in a breath, trying to make a decision, knowing Blaine, no matter how hard he was panting, wouldn't do anything without a go ahead.

"No," Kurt huffed finally.

"No?" Blaine asked, already letting go.

"No, not like this. Come here," he said, even as he pushed Blaine away, down onto his back, then lowered his body down onto Blaine's so that they were pressed together the way they usually were, but naked for the first time.

Blaine moaned again, Kurt shushed him again, and then began to move, gulping at the feel of Blaine's cock sliding against his, Blaine's hair tickling against the sensitive skin.

Blaine wrapped one arm around Kurt's shoulder and the other around Kurt's hips, arching up into him hard and frantic.

"Shh, slower," Kurt managed. Blaine made a cut off sort of noise, shifted one knee up, set his foot between Kurt's calves and pulled Kurt's hips down hard into his, but slowed down with a soft satisfied noise as he did.

The pressure was amazing. Blaine's chest hair rough against his skin was amazing, and the little noises, interspersed with desperate "Oh, Kurt"s was amazing. Kurt couldn't remember why he'd ever been afraid of this.

He turned his head to kiss Blaine and missed entirely, knocking his chin into Blaine's nose. Blaine caught onto the attempt to kiss, but also didn't realize the difficulty of their positioning, and ended up licking Kurt's cheek. Kurt giggled, and Blaine joined in, loosening his needy grip on Kurt enough to allow Kurt to readjust their bodies.

"Love you," Kurt whispered, starting up the kissing and rocking and groping again.

It probably would have been easier to get off from Blaine's hand around him, but this is what he needed right now. Every inch of him touching Blaine, Blaine gripping him like he was the only connection to the world, like he'd fall away into the ether if he let go of Kurt. Blaine's hands groping down his back, Blaine shifting his thigh further over Kurt's butt, pulling him closer, rubbing against him harder.

"Kurt? Close," Blaine murmured.

"Okay."

Blaine's hips stuttered against his own and he let out a frustrated little noise that Kurt covered in a kiss.

"Come on," Kurt panted, rolling his hips down harder, "Come on, I've got you."

"Are you…"

"Not quite."

Blaine groaned again, turned his head, spit in his hand and wormed his hand between them, knuckling Kurt hard in the hip as he grabbed both of their cocks in his wet hand and squeezed. Kurt gasped, snapped his hips forward and was coming before he'd even made a conscious decision to hold back. He was vaguely aware of Blaine's other hand painfully tight around his arm as he rutted into Blaine's hot grip and then suddenly he was slumped over Blaine's body, little shocks stinging over him while Blaine panted into his neck.

Blaine pulled his sticky hand out from between them and set it on Kurt's back. Kurt was about to protest when he realized that he could feel the way their stomachs slid against each other as they gulped for breath. It didn't really matter at this point.

Blaine kissed at the side of his face and wrapped his arms loosely around Kurt's back. "Gonna be a little clingy right now, kay?" he panted.

"Yeah. Good." Kurt replied. He shivered and Blaine let go long enough to maneuver the blanket back over them.

They lay there together, naked and panting and shivering against each other for what, to Kurt, felt like sleepy hours.

"We're all sticky," Blaine managed after a little while.

Kurt snorted and pulled back. He kissed Blaine on the forehead, whispered, "You're ridiculous," and got up.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"Bathroom to clean up. Stay here. I'll be right back."

Kurt pulled his robe off it's hook and dithered for a moment, trying and failing to think of a way to put it on without getting it as sticky as he and Blaine were. He gave up and just put it on, trying to hold it away from his stomach and making a mental note to wash it immediately in the morning.

He scurried silently down the hall, closed the bathroom door behind him, and then flipped the light on, catching sight of himself in the bathroom mirror.

He looked… he looked different. Spots of color burned in his cheeks, all the skin that he could see was pink and flush and warm looking. He lips were red like he'd been biting them. His hair was a complete mess, and he didn't remember Blaine touching it. There was a little red spot, already beginning to bruise just at the line of collarbone and he didn't remember getting that either. He took a washcloth out from under the sink and turned the tap on, waiting for the water to warm up before he took the robe off and hung it on the hook on the wall. He turned back to the sink and held the cloth under the warm water, then turned the tap off and looked back up.

His chest was reddish pink, and his stomach was shining wetly, even under the soft sconce lighting he had insisted on for the bathroom even though it was a lot more expensive than his dad had been hoping for.

His hip bones were just a little sore from where they had knocked against Blaine's, and his cock, more red than pink now, hung half hard between his skinny legs.

A little shiver of… something, something nice and warm and just a little scary ran through him and he quickly cleaned his stomach and his back off, rinsing the wash cloth off thoroughly. Then he flipped his robe inside out, and ran the cloth under the hot water again before rushing, paranoid, back to his room.

He hung the robe back up and climbed into his bed, where Blaine was lying naked but contained, his knees tight together and his arms across his chest.

"Hi," Blaine said quietly.

"Hi," Kurt replied, setting the washcloth to his stomach. Blaine sighed and his body relaxed.

"It's even warm. Best boyfriend ever." He wrapped an arm around Kurt's thigh and lay there, watching Kurt with big, fascinated eyes as Kurt conscientiously wiped him clean, even his hand.

"Come here." He patted at the small of Kurt's back. Kurt shifted down, relishing how every little point of contact put Blaine's bare skin up against his own. Blaine kicked the sheet back up with his leg and pulled it over the two of them, cupping Kurt's face in his hand and kissing him softly before settling his hand at Kurt's waist, just holding him.

"I realized just as you were leaving that I should have grabbed you a Kleenex so you didn't get your robe dirty."

Kurt snorted and Blaine kissed him again, then dropped his head to the pillow. Kurt followed, leaning their foreheads together, wiggling just a little, solely to feel how it changed the way that Blaine's skin pressed into his.

Blaine took a breath, as though about to say something, and Kurt's mind jumped to fill in the gap.

_We need to get dressed, we shouldn't risk getting woken up like this. _

_God I hope we were quiet. _

_I can't believe we just did that._

Blaine was quiet for a moment before he leaned more tightly into Kurt and whispered, "You are the most important thing in the world to me, Kurt."

Kurt wanted to just give a happy cry and hug Blaine for all he was worth, but he was too tired, too sated, too aware that they still did have to get dressed.

"I love you too," he murmured.


	17. I Don't Feel Brave Tonight Coda

_Well,_ Kurt thought to himself when he rolled over and saw that empty space in his bed. _This is a cliché_.

There was nothing for it. This particular cliché called for only one response.

"Blaine?" Kurt called, not really loud enough to catch anyone's attention. When a curly head did not pop out of his vanity alcove or out of his closet, Kurt sighed and threw back the covers, adjusting his pajama shirt.

He grabbed the washcloth from the night before off of his nightstand, trying very hard not to think about the thread count or the weird texture, then took his robe down off the hook and tossed them both in the hamper.

He yawned and stretched, grinning at the slight soreness in his triceps and how it had gotten there before realizing how dark it was for Blaine to already be awake. He went to the window and tugged the curtain aside just as lightning cracked across the sky.

The door clicked open behind him and he spun around.

"Hey," Blaine said softly. "You're awake."

He had a towel wrapped around his stomach, his hair hanging wet and just starting to curl around his forehead and behind his ears. He had put his tee shirt back on for some reason. Both hickeys from yesterday were purple and visible above the neckline, and it made Kurt marvel at himself. Blaine bit his lip and tugged the towel up a little bit.

"Yeah. I'm awake," Kurt answered, trying not to look at Blaine too hard.

"I, uhh, I was going to get dressed and make you coffee before you woke up," Blaine told him.

Kurt smiled. "Really?" Everything about that sent butterflies skittering through his stomach.

"Yeah. But you're awake now."

"You could make me coffee while I shower," Kurt offered.

"Yeah…" Blaine grinned and chuckled. "So… ummm, do you have any…. " he scrunched his eyes closed. "Can I borrow some clean underwear and if it's weird for me to borrow your underwear I totally understand."

"Big plus in the gay column?" Kurt smiled, "We wear the same brand of underwear."

Blaine laughed. Kurt went to his dresser and pulled out a pair of boxers before pausing. "No offense, Blaine, but you need a clean shirt too. Too much has happened in that one."

"Can I wear the collared shirt you gave me last night again?" Blaine asked, pointing to his neck.

"I've got a lightweight grey shirt with a more interesting collar that would probably fit you." Kurt replied, trying not to bounce on his toes at the thought of getting to dress Blaine up, but totally failing.

"Fine," Blaine laughed. "Style me. I'm a life-size doll to you. I accept that."

Kurt grabbed an undershirt out of his dresser as well, dropped them both on the bed and then went to his vanity.

"Oh. I have something else." He grabbed a tube of mousse off the counter and brought it over, handing it to Blaine. Blaine clasped his hand over Kurt's fingers, leaned in and kissed him.

Kurt's stomach swooped. He'd spent the night with his boyfriend. He'd been naked with his boyfriend, and now his boyfriend was going to make him coffee while he took a shower. Two mornings in a row wasn't nearly enough.

He let the kiss, soft and unrushed, go on, running his free hand over Blaine's shoulders and down his back. He tucked his fingers under the hem of Blaine's tee shirt and brushed them up a little ways. Blaine did that little jolt he always did when Kurt touched his bare back, but relaxed after a second. Kurt pushed up a little further and Blaine pulled back.

"You should get in the shower," Blaine said.

"You should get dressed," Kurt replied, running his hand over the day old cotton covering Blaine's shoulder. Blaine kissed him again, once, quickly, and headed for the pile of under clothes on Kurt's bed. He grabbed the undershirt and held it up.

"Where is this lightweight grey shirt you spoke of?" Blaine asked.

Kurt slipped into his closet, and grabbed the shirt, which, now that he looked at it, wasn't as warm a grey as he had thought it was and would wash Blaine out a little.

"Hold on. I think I can find something more suited to your skin tone."

Blaine's "okay" in response was unjustifiably long suffering. Kurt rolled his eyes, found something in bright red, but tucked it back into the closet when he realized that it would make the little sponging of red that was still around Blaine's nose and the little liner of red still around his eyes pop. He grabbed a khaki colored shirt, a little too military derived really, with a high, slightly Nehru collar. It was a supposed to be boxy, and the only one on the outlet rack that had fit him had been just a little big, so it should fit Blaine, who was broader chested than he was. He himself never wore it without a scarf or a brooch because it was a little bland, but somehow, the thought of Blaine in a gauzy summer scarf didn't appeal to him.

He walked back out into his room, Blaine was sitting on his bed, in his jeans from last night and still in his tee shirt.

"What do you think?" Kurt asked, holding the shirt up for inspection.

"It's… tanner that I would go… but it looks like it'll fit." Blaine shrugged and held out a hand.

Kurt gave him the hanger, bending to kiss him again, just because he could, before turning to leave.

"Oh." He stopped at the door and turned back around, in time to see Blaine tug the slightly ripe tee shirt over his head. He let his eyes pass over the slight tone of Blaine's stomach, the smattering of the hair he'd felt but not seen before Blaine pulled the shirt over his head and gave Kurt a little bit of a look.

"Yes?" Blaine asked, ducking to grab the undershirt and turning so that he was facing Kurt head on, a hesitant sort of smile playing at his lips.

"Don't let my dad have any coffee. He had coffee and a beer yesterday and if he sees you alone in the kitchen he might try something."

"I can't even let him have a cup as a thank you?"

Kurt pursed his lips and Blaine put his hands up in defeat. "You can trust me. No coffee for your father."

Blaine began to tug the undershirt on and Kurt let his gaze slip past Blaine's chest to the vanity mirror behind him, watching the muscles shift in Blaine's lower back for a moment before his gaze inched up to Blaine's shoulders.

He didn't realize what it was at first, but went cold when he did. One of Blaine's shoulder blades was a completely different color than the other. Smooth, slightly olive skin juxtaposed to white, shiny and thin, rough and uneven around the edges, a jagged pink line obvious and visible across it, even at the distance and in the reflection.

Blaine adjusted the tank around his waist and grabbed the khaki shirt, Kurt forced his eyes away from the mirror as Blaine shoved an arm in the shirt sleeve, covering the huge scar on his back.

He chuckled. "Go take a shower. I'll let you gawk at me after breakfast."

"Right," Kurt answered, high and a little too breathless as he told himself that Blaine had been more of a _boy_ than he had been and there were a million ways to get a scar.

"If this is how you're going to react, I'll let you gawk at me all the time," Blaine told him, almost sounding serious as he buttoned the shirt up.

Kurt floundered for a second before sarcasm kicked in, almost like muscle memory. "It's just the lack of caffeine. You should get on that."

Blaine smirked and Kurt turned and hurried to the bathroom.

* * *

><p>Dave hated whoever was hammering on his door. Hated them like he had never hated anyone. He would totally beat them up, if that didn't mean he would have to get up. Dave groaned, pressed his face into his pillow and tried to send hate rays through the door, which was also too much effort.<p>

"Davey? I'm coming in," Mark's voice, loud and… ick came through the door. The door opened with a squeak like a knife blade through the air.

"How you feeling, buddy?" Mark asked.

"I think I'm dead."

"Attaboy. I brought you a glass of ice, a Gatorade and Snickers. Trick my roommate taught me, works like magic. Drink it slow, I'll tell Mom that I heard you throw up last night, you'll say something about someone getting sick in your musical and they'll never suspect."

Something cold pressed against the back of Dave's neck and he groaned at how good it felt.

"Oh, and check your phone. I figured you'd be like this in the morning so I put it on silent. The light's blinking though."

"Not getting up."

"That's the spirit. Try to get some the Gatorade down. You'll feel better. Then get a couple bites of Snickers in you. I come back later. I think DD'ing, covering for the hang over and bringing you the hang over cure entitles me to some details about what you and your girlfriend were doing while drinking most of a bottle of tequila."

The cold left his neck, there was a loud knock of something against his nightstand and a thump at his shoulder, and then Mark was gone.

Dave reached over to his nightstand and grabbed his phone. He had a text from Santana.

From Santana:

_Thnx 4 cleaning/hiding booze #1 fake bf. How u feel_

He groaned and fumbled out a reply.

_Liek death. Blmea u._

A new message came up after a moment.

_Food l8r?_

His stomach lurched.

_Nvr again._

* * *

><p>Kurt showered quickly, half anxious to scrub the smell of Blaine off of his skin and half not. He'd thought he would feel… guiltier than this. He'd done exactly what his father had asked him not to do, he'd done exactly what his father had been afraid he'd done the last time Blaine had slept over, he'd done exactly what half the country seemed terrified he might ever be able to do… and he just felt good. Like he and Blaine had just given each other something that they both needed. It almost felt… innocent in a weird way. Not in a way that wouldn't sound stupid said out loud, but that's how it felt.<p>

And Blaine making him coffee, and the mark on Blaine's back and the fact that Blaine still looked like he'd spent the night in tears, just made Kurt want to do it again. And again. And again.

He wrapped a towel around himself and hurried to his room, feeling awkward about being half naked in the hallway, and put on a slightly worn pair of skinny jeans that were comfortable but presentable. After considering the gloom of the day, he pulled a tee shirt and a lightweight summery green tunic length sweater on. He'd made it himself after spending all of his garage money on a couple of absolutely miraculous Marc Jacobs accessory auctions on ebay and finding himself with no spring-weight clothing options except making something or going Mossimo flannel. He'd gotten so sick of being cold that he had given in and let it be about two inches shorter than he had planned, but it was still cozy and perfect for a rainy summer morning with a boyfriend waiting in the kitchen.

The smell of coffee was wafting through the living room when Kurt got downstairs, and he walked into the kitchen to find Blaine bent over a cutting board. He looked up as Kurt stepped onto the tile and the warm smile he gave Kurt stole the sarcastic comment right off of his lips.

"What are you doing?" Kurt asked.

"I got down here and realized that I was starving," Blaine answered, "And then it sort of turned into making your family breakfast. As a thank you."

Kurt chuckled. "You're robbing Carol of an opportunity to indulge everyone. Remember the omelet, muffin, waffle extravaganza Carol made the morning after Prom?"

"I do. You swatted your father's hand three times and made him eat oatmeal, and you kept sliding hunks of your waffle onto Finn's plate when Carol wasn't watching. Like you were a little kid trying to feed the dog broccoli."

"I always ate my broccoli," Kurt tells him with mock offense.

"Of course you did," Blaine responded rolling his eyes and handing Kurt a mug full of coffee with just a little too much cream, not quite enough sugar, but close enough to make Kurt shiver at the fact that Blaine paid attention to how he took his coffee.

"Breakfast involves chopping?" Kurt asked, hoping Blaine hadn't noticed his little moment of total smitteness.

"Eggs Florentine," Blaine answered. "So your dad can have some too."

Kurt bit his lip. It was nice of Blaine to try, but he seemed to have the same concept of "healthy" as Carol did. He set his mug down on the counter.

"Oh, Blaine, that's… eggs, hollandaise and cheese are an issue."

Blaine's smile widened. He set down the knife and grabbed Kurt's hand in both of his own. "No hollandaise sauce, only egg white, a little ricotta cheese, pepper, no salt. I looked up a healthier recipe up on my phone." He jerked his head toward the counter. I'm even making enough for Finn so you won't have to swat anyone."

Kurt stared at him, overtaken for a moment, before leaning forward and pressing his lips to Blaine's. Blaine smiled against them and brought his hands to Kurt's hips, tilting his head to kiss Kurt again before bringing his arms behind Kurt's back and sliding out of the kiss to tuck his chin into the crook of Kurt's neck.

Kurt hugged him back, before pulling away and giving into the need to say something.

"I didn't know you could cook."

Blaine let him go and turned back to his growing pile of spinach. "No, you just assumed that I couldn't because all the other boys you know are hopeless and Finn is a tragic grease fire waiting to happen."

"What can I help with?" Kurt asked, leaning against the counter a little bit. He felt silly about it, but he didn't completely trust his legs at the moment.

Blaine set his hand over Kurt's. "Please let me make you breakfast."

"Alright," Kurt agreed. He walked around the island, perched on one of the stools and, in one of the most comfortable silences of his life, watched Blaine cook.

* * *

><p>Burt woke to the smell of coffee. He opened his eyes and stared up at the dark ceiling for a few moments, listening to the rain beat on the roof and slowly letting his brain come to terms with the fact that he still had to deal with today.<p>

Today was going to be a long day full of discussions that he didn't want to have, with people he didn't want to talk too, and, after over indulging yesterday, he couldn't even allow himself a cup of coffee to help brace him for the day without Kurt getting on his case about it.

And that was one argument he didn't want to deal with today when he already had to figure out how in the hell to deal with the Andersons, how to deal with Carol over how to deal with Andersons, how to deal with Carol over how she had dealt with Kurt and Blaine sleeping in the same room and how to deal with Kurt and Blaine over the fact that when Burt had gotten up to pee last night he'd seen Kurt hightailing it back to his room, _and his boyfriend_, with his skinny white chicken legs sticking out from under the robe that he was clearly bare-ass naked underneath.

And Burt knew that discussion was lose-lose. If it had been Rachel scurrying back to Finn's room, that was at least simple. Yell at Finn about boundaries and hormones and pregnancy scares and responsibility and reputation. Done. Fair? Maybe not entirely, but expected and simple.

But if Burt yelled at Blaine he was implying Kurt was a girl who needed to be protected and if he yelled at Kurt he was implying that Kurt was predatory and if he yelled at both of them Kurt would play the gay card and he'd have to shoot that argument down before he could move onto the "under my roof" card.

He worked his way out of bed. At least Carol was still asleep. Their discussion last night had already lead to Carol playing the "I was married and I'd had Finn when I wasn't that much older than them" card, the "It's not like they'll have sex" card, the "wasn't that the point of the sex talk" card, and the "I lost my virginity at fourteen and I turned out fine" _wild card_, and now Burt just wanted to make it through the morning without feeling like a black jack dealer.

At least Finn had quietly accepted that an allowance was being made for Kurt and Blaine because they'd had a rough night. Burt had expected a little more push back from Finn on why the person Kurt was dating could sleep in his bed and Rachel or Quinn couldn't be in the house without the bedroom door wide open, but Finn had just nodded and asked if he should bring them anything.

Burt pulled his robe on and made his way downstairs, stopping in the living room to breath in a deep drag of coffee scented air.

The door between the kitchen and the living room was slightly ajar and Burt could see the boys moving around in the kitchen. Fully dressed but with wet hair. Even from back here he could tell that Blaine hadn't shaved, which made the kid look like he was at least twentyfive. He sighed and closed his eyes. It wasn't like he didn't realize that Kurt was eventually going to grow up, but did he have to do it so damn fast?

Burt moved a little closer, trying to make out voices even though he was sure he didn't want to overhear the conversation.

Blaine handed Kurt a cup of coffee, and the smile that Kurt gave him after a sip made Burt pause. It wasn't a smile he recognized. Kurt said something, his voice too quiet to make the words out. Blaine waved at a pile of something green on the counter and Kurt frowned at him. Burt actually felt a twinge of sympathy for Blaine. Cooking up to Kurt's specifications took more than good intentions.

Kurt's frown slowly fell away, and Burt realized that he did recognize the look that replaced it. It was the stunned look that Kurt had worn when Burt had offered to go up against Shuester to get Kurt an audition for that solo. It was the look he'd seen on Kurt's face when he'd kicked Finn out of the house for using the F-word. It was the look he'd seen Kurt give Finn a couple days later, when both boys had shown up at the front door dressed like Lady Gaga.

It was the shocked look Kurt gave people when they stepped into his corner. When they volunteered to take some of the weight off his shoulders. Kurt stepped to Blaine and kissed him, and the protective/grossed out/saddened/concerned/resigned feeling that Burt had been expecting to feel when he saw his son kiss a boy, that he'd felt just a flash of when he'd caught them making out in the driveway, didn't happen. Blaine moved closer, _snuggling_ Kurt, and the safe, blissful expression on Kurt's face killed Burt's righteous indignation at the blatant disregard for appropriateness that had happened in his house the night before.

Blaine let Kurt go, and went back to cooking. Kurt went to the other side of the island and sat down, and Burt decided to shelve this discussion, for now. He was still going to make damn sure that Carol got a piece of his mind, but the boys could get a reprieve this morning.


	18. Not That Kind Of Guy

So here's what you missed on Glee

Kurt, Blaine, Rachel, Santana and Dave Karofsky- yeah- Dave Karofsky, all got into the community theater production of West Side Story. Everyone's excited but Burt, who thinks that Dave is up to something.

The only thing Dave is actually up to is pretending to date Santana so that they both pretend to be straight, but keeping the lie up is starting to get harder.

Blaine gave Puck a copy of "On The Road" to make him feel better about Lauren leaving to be a camp counselor in Oregon, and Puck took off in his Mom's crumbling Volvo. No one's seen him in weeks, but he texts Blaine all the time. He called him his spirit guide. It's getting weird.

Kurt met Blaine's parents, and everything seemed fine, until Blaine's dad tried to set Blaine up with a girl and they got into a huge fight and Blaine's dad hit him.

Blaine stayed over at Kurt's afterward, and they finally took their relationship to the next level, (which Burt knows about) and then Kurt saw a huge scar on Blaine's back.

And that's what you missed on

GLEE!

*o*o

"I'm telling you, Santana, he knows something is going on. I don't know what he thinks it is, but he totally thinks something's going on," Dave hissed into his phone as he dug out one of the premade hamburgers his mom had set aside in the fridge.

"You're being a paranoid bitch," Santana sighed into the receiver. "Your brother is too dumb to figure this out. Trust me. I know this type of jock. If he starts to get too close to something, just throw a stick into traffic. Problem solved."

"I'm not coming over tonight." Dave said, sprinkling pepper onto his burger and flipping it out of its Tupperware into the fry pan he'd already heated up on the stove.

"Man up, Karofsky, it's taken me, like days just to get you to go look at a dating site. You don't have to chat, you don't have to email anyone, you just have to look. And maybe if you warm up just a little out of frigid territory, I did find you some cute jock boys in Columbus. One's even-"

"No, Santana. I cannot deal with this right now."

"Fine. We'll keep it strictly to leering. But you have got to loosen up."

"Santana-" Dave flipped his burger over, nearly flipping it straight out of the pan in his frustration.

"Dave- I know," she said, her voice actually softening. "Okay, you're preaching to the choir. I get that this has a big scary potential. I even get that I'm the worst possible person to be pushing you into it. My big scary potential blew up in my face and burnt off my eyebrows. I'm onboard."

"Then why are you forcing me to do this, Santana?"

"Don't you ever get sick to death of being afraid? Don't you ever just want to fucking scream until everyone's heard you?"

"Yeah," Dave answered quietly. "I do."

There was a long pause and then Santana sighed into the phone. "So. You're brother. He hasn't figured out the truth. Trust me, jock boys look at hot lesbos in a certain way and he's not giving me the right type of leer. What are you afraid of?"

"I think he's at least clear on the fact that we aren't really dating," Dave said.

"What the hell made him think that?"

"I don't remember this at all, but apparently last week at your place while I was cleaning up, I was making so much noise that he came up to make sure everything was okay and you were drunk and totally naked in your bed and I said something to you making you promise that you wouldn't inappropriately text anyone, and then I kissed you on the head. He's mentioned a couple times how weird it was.

"I don't remember anything after you wouldn't let me order pizza," Santana offered.

"You got mopey," Dave said. Santana didn't need to know the details right now. "I don't know. It's not just that. I feel like I don't ever touch you or talk to you right anymore."

"So? His mind wouldn't go directly to gay," Santana told him. "There are plenty of reasons that people like the people we're supposed to be would pretend to date."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Most of the other reasons we are. Popularity. Status. Cache. Juice."

"Okay… that's just a bunch of synonyms for one reason," Dave hissed.

"Oh look at you mister applying to college. Heard back from anywhere yet?"

"It's not even senior year."

"And in your desperation to escape you didn't think of early admission?"

"Maybe I did." Dave flipped his burger again. He hated these conversations where he wished he didn't still want to talk to Santana. "Why do you even need me to come over to do this with you? Shouldn't the things you do alone with the internet be private?"

Santana made that noise she made in her throat when she was deciding not to tell you something.

"Whoa, wait, this isn't just about tormenting me-"

"It's a bonus," Santana interjected.

"This is about you!" Dave crowed. "What are we really looking for tonight?"

There was a long hiss of air into the phone again, almost like Santana was smoking and letting out a long drag.

"I can't handle feeling like this anymore, Dave. I need to get over Brittany… and you're nice and all but I think that this requires…"

"A woman's touch?" Dave asked.

"Can it, Karofsky are you coming over or not?"

"I am the worst person in the entire world to help you with this."

Another long breath into the phone.

"Are you smoking?" Dave asked.

"I got us cigars for tonight. You'll like them," Santana replied.

"Why do you need me?" Dave tried again.

"I need… remember how we wound up being best friends?"

"It's painfully clear at the moment."

"You get gayer when you're tetchy."

"Santana."

"Looking for someone to help me get over Brittany is going to be hard. I don't want to do this alone. I need a friend." Another long exhale. "I trust you."

"Fine. But remember what you promised." Dave shook his head and pushed some bread into the toaster.

"No contact. None."

"Thank you." Dave dropped a piece of cheese onto his hamburger and put the lid on to let it melt.

"So, you didn't answer me about that early admission stuff."

"I got in at San Diego," Dave said. He wasn't sure why he was even trying to hide this from Santana, the whole point of Santana was having someone to tell his secrets too. The last time they'd gone out for a walk he'd told her that yes, in face, broad blondes were his type and the first sex dream he'd ever had been about Matt Damon. He just had so much pinned on college these days that talking about it seemed like blowing out the candles and then telling people what you had wished for.

"Beach bunnies. Nicely decided," Santana laughed.

"San Diego?" A voice behind him demanded. Dave jumped out of his skin, moving so fast that he knocked the still sizzling fry pan off of the stove. The hamburger skidded like a hockey puck, all the way across the kitchen floor to land at Mark's feet.

"Santana I have to call you back."

*o*o

"Mmhmmm," Blaine chuckled. "You're right. We never do this."

"Variety is the spice of life," Kurt shrugged, craning his neck up to kiss Blaine, who was straddling him carefully, like he was worried if he put too much weight on Kurt he might crush him.

Kurt set his hands at Blaine's shoulders and rubbed down his arms, massaging a little where he could feel Blaine's biceps straining just slightly from holding himself up.

"And things at home really are okay?" Kurt asked, aware that this made it a solid hundred times that he had asked in the last week.

Blaine sighed, but his voice was surprisingly patient when he answered. "Yes, Kurt. My dad doesn't hit me. I promise you I would tell you. I would come straight here, and I would tell you. And then your dad would probably adopt me and then things would get super weird.

"That's not what I meant… how is… how are other things?"

"They really are fine. They aren't stellar. They aren't great. They aren't even good, but I promise you, and I promised Carol and I promised your Dad and even Finn made me promise him, that if they are even slightly less than fine, I will call one of you."

Kurt tapped his fingers against the small of Blaine's back. It was true. His dad had refused to send Blaine home without at least one of his parents coming to Kurt's house to talk to him first, and Kurt and Blaine had been sent upstairs while a conversation between Carol, his father, and Blaine's mother had taken place in such low tones that eavesdropping at the door hadn't helped and by the time they had silently made it to the top of the stairs to improve their eavesdropping, Kurt's dad had hollered so loudly for them that they both jumped.

His dad had made Blaine's mom wait to leave while he gave Blaine the house number, which Blaine hadn't had before, his own cell number and the number at the garage. Carol had given Blaine her cellphone and the number at the dentists office, and Finn, who had come home from something involving Artie and a still-in-the-planning-stages HALO tournament had walked in, gotten the gist of what was happening and had Kurt text Blaine his cell number as well. Then his dad had made Blaine's mom give him her cell, Blaine's dad's cell, the country club number, and the number at Blaine's father's office. Blaine's mom had almost cried and Kurt had never seen his father's face go so hard.

Kurt bit back his hundredth "I'm sorry" of the week.

"Hey. Where did you go?" Blaine asked, running a hand over Kurt's forehead.

"Sorry. It's just…"

"Kurt, I'll live, okay? Honestly it's not that bad. It's just…" Blaine settled down against him finally, letting more of his weight rest on Kurt's body. "It's pretty much the same as it was before. It's like it was after I started at Dalton."

"And what's that like?"

"Please don't get upset," Blaine sighed. "Can we just go back to making out?"

"Yeah. We can," Kurt said. Blaine smiled and leaned down, and Kurt only kissed him back a couple times before turning his face to the side and sighing.

"Kurt," Blaine protested.

"Sorry… just… what is that like?"

"It's like… it's like I just fade into the background. He says hello when I walk into a room, and then he goes back to what he was doing. It's not all about me. It's not all about… I think he's ashamed of how he acted, but he doesn't know how to…"

"To what?"

"Apologize? Make it okay?"

"Can he? Make it okay?"

Blaine bit his lip. "I don't know."

A pause stretched on awkwardly.

"_I_ love you," Kurt announced a little more fiercely than he meant to.

Blaine smiled. "Then kiss me."

"We could… do more than that," Kurt said. "No one's going to be home before we leave for rehearsal."

"What could we do?" Blaine asked, his voice going warm and soft.

Kurt ran his hands back up Blaine's sides and wrapped his arms around Blaine's shoulders. "We could… umm," he shrugged.

"Come on, Kurt, if you want to do it you should be able to say it."

Kurt flushed and cleared his throat. "We could… take our clothes off… like before. With you… like this."

"Take our clothes off and do what with me like how?" Blaine teased.

Kurt sighed and tried to shift out from underneath Blaine. "Never mind, then. Maybe we should just go downstairs and read magazines."

"Hey, no, I'm just kidding," Blaine laughed, then dropped his mouth down to Kurt's ear and moved his hips, pressing them down into Kurt's just a little. "Do you want to take our clothes off and get off with me on top of you?"

"Yeah." Kurt shivered. Stupid Blaine and his stupid laugh and his stupid lips.

"Awesome," Blaine answered, kissing his neck and running his hands down to Kurt's jeans, untucking his shirt. Kurt wrapped his hands around Blaine's neck and pulled him in to kiss him deeper, until Blaine tugged away with a heavy breath and sat up, straddling Kurt. He smoothed his hands over Kurt's shirt and undid the button at Kurt's collar.

Kurt gulped. He hadn't really thought out the part of this where Blaine was going to see him, really see him, naked this time. They were sprawled out on top of Kurt's bed. It was the middle of the afternoon, sunlight was streaming into his room, the only noise was the steady hum of the air conditioner. Last time there had been blankets and darkness for a little bit of a safety net, and the idea that maybe he didn't need that this time sent a little thrill through Kurt's body. Another thrill followed it, when he realized that Blaine wouldn't be obscured in darkness and blankets either.

Blaine undid a few more buttons, eyes trained on Kurt's chest as he revealed more and more pale skin. He flicked the last button open and parted Kurt's shirt, tracing his fingers up Kurt's stomach.

"You have such nice skin," Blaine whispered. "Would you get mad if I told you that you were pretty?"

Kurt laughed. "I might if it weren't for your girly Maybelline lashes."

Blaine flicked his eyes up from Kurt's chest and grinned at him. "Maybelline? I don't even get mocked with a luxury brand?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know, something… French. With ingredients that don't sound gross in French?"

"There is a lot of talking with clothes on happening here. This was not the plan," Kurt announced, reaching out and pulling Blaine's shirt out of his pants. He started on his bottom button. Blaine stopped him.

"Hey, wait… can I… Is it okay if I undress you first?"

"Why?"

"I've um… you wear a lot of clothes. I've thought about this. A lot."

Kurt bit his lip and breathed out. "Alright."

"Awesome," Blaine said, almost to himself. He ran his hands over Kurt's skin again, letting a long breath out through his teeth. Goose bumps chased across Kurt's arms as Blaine popped open the button on his jeans, then ran a hand down between Kurt's legs.

"Umm… sorry I'm trying to-"Kurt started.

"What?" Blaine laughed.

"I'm not-" Kurt gestured to himself and then wished he hadn't.

Blaine ran his hand back up Kurt's fly, over his mostly soft cock. "Don't worry, you will be."

Kurt laughed at him. Blaine unzipped his fly, moved off of him and carefully worked him out of his pants. Kurt's underwear came down with them, and Blaine took the waistband in hand and pulled those off as well, tossing them off the bed and leaving Kurt lying naked on his back, except for the shirt still covering his arms and shoulders. Blaine ran his palms back up Kurt's calves and thighs as he came back up to kiss him.

"You still okay?"

"Just… can you take something off now? I feel weird."

"Yeah, of course." Blaine unbuttoned his own shirt and tossed it off the bed, then took Kurt's hands in his and set them at his own waistband. Kurt twisted the button open and pulled the zipper down. Blaine was completely erect, and with a little unprecedented daring, Kurt pulled the waistband of Blaine's underwear down, revealing the head of his cock and then looking up at Blaine, who was staring down at him with much darker eyes than before. He quickly worked his way out of his own pants and underwear.

Kurt grabbed the sides of his white t-shirt and tugged. Blaine seized up and Kurt suddenly realized why he must always do that.

Blaine didn't want Kurt to touch his back.

Kurt hadn't mentioned anything about Blaine's scar all week. Not a word. There was no way of bringing it up, and things had been tense enough and Blaine's week had been hard enough. Kurt hadn't stopped thinking about it, but he hadn't said anything.

But then Blaine was tugging his shirt off and tossing it to the ground with the rest of his clothes and Kurt let himself relax.

"Come here," Blaine breathed, pulling Kurt up so he could help him get his arms out of his sleeves.

"You can toss that on the ground," Kurt told him.

"Wait, really?"

"Hundred percent cotton," Kurt answered.

Blaine very carefully tossed Kurt's shirt down with their other clothes and turned back, smiling sweetly and bending down to kiss him.

"Sure you don't want to switch?" he asked.

"If you are," Kurt answered. He wanted to at least try this.

Blaine set his hips to Kurt's, pressing their bodies together and started to rock, setting his mouth to Kurt's neck. Kurt tossed his head back, giving Blaine better access. Blaine slipped a hand under Kurt's knee and pulled it up, whispering, "I really liked it like this," as Kurt groaned.

He lifted his head back up, and realized that he was looking down Blaine's back, where he could see the muscles down Blaine's back undulating as Blaine moved against him, and the scar across all of Blaine's shoulder.

There were more pink lines across it. The one that he'd seen was just the longest and the most raised. It was almost an angry red. The others were smaller and whiter, but more numerous, almost like the little scratch marks left by kitten claws, but Kurt doubted there was that cute an explanation for it.

Blaine came up to kiss him and Kurt tried to banish the whole thing from his mind.

Blaine was okay. Blaine was here and naked and warm and gorgeous and he didn't even want Kurt to know about it, let alone dwell on it when they were trying to get off together. He wrapped a hand in the hair at that nape of Blaine's neck and let a hand drop down to just above the swell of Blaine's ass, earning him a little "mmm" of approval as Blaine rocked down into him harder and faster.

But Kurt's hands strayed up Blaine's back as Blaine's kissing got sloppy, and he brushed his fingertips over the scar. It was soft to the touch. There were more patches of scar interspersed between Blaine's skin than it had looked like there were. He could feel the little raised lines against his fingertips as he moved over it, until he came to the one big line and stopped.

Blaine froze and pulled his head back. He was still so close that it made Kurt go a little cross eyed to look at him.

"What are you doing?" he asked quietly.

"Ummm…" Kurt managed, berating himself inwardly. He always articulate when he was uncomfortable, except for when it involved Blaine, and now he'd clearly freaked Blaine out and he couldn't even string together a decent apology. "When you got out of the shower, last week, I… and now I just… I'm sorry. I won't… we can-"

Blaine pulled back further and Kurt grabbed his arms to hold him. "Blaine I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay. I get it," Blaine huffed. He pulled back, out of Kurt's hands, and sat up, but took Kurt's hands in his. He looked at Kurt, then to the pillow next to Kurt and rubbed his thumbs over Kurt's knuckles.

"Blaine, I'm really so-"

"No," Blaine shook his head. "Don't be. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You either, I should have… said-"

"Blaine, no-"

"Kurt just-" Blaine sighed and squeezed Kurt's hands in his, finally looking back at him, with his slightly glassy warbler smile, which didn't look nearly as confident when he was naked and flush and didn't even have his hair gelled. "Okay, look. I really, really don't want to talk about this today."

"That's okay," Kurt said hurriedly.

"And that's because it's been a very long week, and I'm sick of… feeling like a kicked puppy. Okay?"

"I'm sor-"

"It's not your fault, Kurt. So let's just…" Blaine stopped and the Warbler Front fell. "Look, it's from exactly what you think it's from, okay?"

Kurt nodded. Sadie Hawkins. Right.

"Can we please, please, please, just make out with our clothes off, and then maybe go make some dinner and go to rehearsal?"

"Yeah, of course," Kurt replied.

"Okay," Blaine nodded. He smiled, more a quirk of the corners of his lips than an actual smile and bent down to kiss Kurt, hard and dirty and sudden.

"And um…. Don't take this the wrong way." Blaine rocked against him, neither of them actually hard enough anymore for it to do much. "But can we switch back?"

"Yeah, of course," Kurt agreed instantly, following Blaine, who was already rolling over onto his back. Kurt settled himself on top of Blaine's body and Blaine lifted his legs and wrapped his arms tight around the middle of Kurt's back and held him there, until they both came.

*o*o

"San Diego?" Mark demanded as Dave dove for the fry pan before it scorched the linoleum.

"How long were you creeping around behind me, you big freak?"

"Since you asked your girlfriend if she was smoking," Mark answered and Dave felt relief burst inside his stomach. "San Diego, dude? What the hell? I thought you were coming out to Nebraska? No one wants to play football in California."

"Mark, I'm not good enough to get on the team at UNO. Nebraska football is a big deal and the Titans are a joke in _Ohio_." His mouth went without any interference from his brain, which was still focused on replaying everything he'd said out loud since Santana had called. He had definitely said something about how they weren't really dating. Shit. Shit. Shit. "And it's not like I'm going to go professional, like ever, I need to be thinking about my options. College is expensive. I need to leave with more than a couple of knocks to the head and a list of scores from games that no one remembers."

"What the hell is in San Diego?" Mark demanded. "What, are you going to go sing and dance with Santana? They got a good _musical_ program out there?"

The appeal of San Diego was that it was far away. That was it. That was the only reason, and much like Dave couldn't tell anyone anything these days, he couldn't admit to his brother that distance was the appeal.

"Beach bunnies," he heard himself say. He mentally cursed Santana.

"Bullshit," Mark said.

Dave's blood ran cold. "What?"

Mark slapped a hand over Dave's shoulder, bent down to pick up the burger between them and tossed in the garbage can. "Davey, you are _not that kind of guy_."

He passed Dave and went to the sink to grab the washcloth hanging over the faucet. Dave's face burned as the water ran. He tried to say something and couldn't. Mark returned and tossed him the washcloth, which Dave just barely managed to catch.

"I see the way you are with Santana, Davey." Mark leaned back against the counter and looked him up and down. Dave felt his legs start to shake. "You're just… sweet and friendly. Like a big dopey dog. You let her drag you around to all her girly shit. She got you to join a play." Mark shrugged and laughed. "You're too good a guy to mean it when you say "beach bunny". You, bro, are _boyfriend material_. You waited this long, and somehow, you turned into the kind of guy that girls hang on to, you poor bastard." Mark grinned teasingly at him and then the smile turned into something else. "Seriously though, Davey… you really love Santana, don't you?"

Dave felt his jaw drop. No way. No way was this happening to him. Mark was giving up on Dave following in his womanizing footsteps, because he thought Dave was… what? Going to marry Santana? The type of guy who didn't go from girl to girl because he was… good at relationships? He respected women too much?

"Yeah, I do," he answered. Fuck it. It was true. She was his best friend. He didn't like touching her bare skin and thought kissing her was gross and had felt a little spike of what might have actually been terror when she'd taken her clothes off in front of him, but yeah- he loved her. In a way.

Mark nodded. "Good for you, Davey. Just… be careful okay? That whole high school sweetheart thing? It can crash and burn pretty hard okay? Trust me." Mark slapped him on the back and turned to go then stopped. "Oh, and are you going to clean this up or not?"

"Yeah," Dave said, his voice coming out high and bizarre.

Mark laughed and turned to leave.

"Mark! Wait," Dave called, a little too loudly. Mark turned around and looked at him expectantly. Dave tried to wet his bone-dry mouth.

"Don't tell Mom and Dad about San Diego, okay? I still don't think I'm going that far away. It was just… exploring my options you know. I don't want them to get… all weird about me going away when I might not"

"Sure man. Our secret." Mark went back upstairs.

Dave dropped to his knees and started scrubbing. Perfect. Just what he needed. One more secret.


	19. A Conversation We Still Aren't Having

I apologize. This chapter is a little... fillery, but I promise I'm getting up and running again soon. This is the downfall of glee- there are so many characters.

* * *

><p>"Well," Kurt sighed, sliding into his car as Blaine bucked his seat belt. "That sucked."<p>

"Yes. Yes it did. I can't believe Rachel let Jesse turn rehearsal into a thinly veiled attempt to get into her pants." Blaine yawned. It had been a ridiculously long day and a painfully long rehearsal and he just wanted to go home, hope his father was in the den so they didn't have to avoid each other, make himself a cup of tea and read in his bed for a little while. He was so tired he wasn't sure he even wanted to make out again.

"I can. Even if it was shining up her skirt the spotlight was still on her," Kurt huffed.

Blaine laughed and then choked it off. "That was terrible and an awful thing to say about your best friend."

"Rachel Berry is not my best friend. Mercedes is."

"How is Mercedes?" Blaine asked.

Kurt gave him slightly shocked look. Blaine wondered if something major had happened and Kurt either hadn't said anything to him or had and Blaine had forgotten. Kurt turned his keys in the ignition.

"Is it just me, or do Santana and Dave almost seem happy together?" he asked, edging out of their parking space.

Blaine shrugged. "I don't know. I don't really get them, I guess. I mean… if I didn't know she was gay too I might think that she was really into him but… I don't know. They seem to make each other happy. In some way."

"That's probably good," Kurt nodded. He cleared his throat. "You want to hook your I-pod up? It's really quiet in here."

Blaine dug through his bag and plugged his I-pod in and hitting play before he realized that he still had it on his "Dreary" playlist. Maybe he'd spent more of the week wallowing than he wanted to admit.

"What is this?" Kurt asked.

"Umm… "O Children". Nick Cave."

They song played over Kurt's ludicrously nice speaker system, soaking more intensely through Blaine than it did just over his computer speakers. The heavy wet air was glowing around all of the streetlights and the song seemed to catch in the humidity itself.

"_Lift up your voice, lift up your voice_," Kurt sang along as the chorus came around again.

"_Children… Rejoice_," Blaine joined in.

"_Hey, little train, wait for me. _

_I once was blind but now I see_

_Have you left a seat for me?_

_Is that such a stretch of the imagination?"_

"_Oh, children. Lift up your voice, lift up your voice_," Kurt sang.

"_Rejoice_."

They sang their way through to the end and there was a pause as the song faded away, and then back in.

"This is a really depressing song to have on repeat," Kurt commented.

"I know," Blaine sighed. "Look, Kurt… I am okay. I promise. It's just been a hard week."

"You're always welcome at my house," Kurt said.

"I'm sorry I got so weird today."

"It's okay. I shouldn't have been weird about it either. I hope… you know I don't… I don't know, think it's gross or anything."

"It's okay, I know it's gross."

"It's not gross, Blaine," Kurt said. His voice was hard and sharp and determined. Blaine shivered.

"Kurt, can you pull over?"

"What?"

"Please? I just… I need to talk to you."

"Alright."

Kurt turned off the main street, tucked the Navigator under some big privacy hedges and turned it off. He turned to Blaine as much as the seat would allow and Blaine lost his nerve.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I…" Blaine reached across the console and grabbed Kurt's hand. "I trust you okay? And maybe I should've warned you or… I don't know. But I just… I _want_ to talk to you about this and it's just… it's too hard."

Kurt's pale skin whitened further under the moonlight. "That's okay," he replied, at his most breathless, which just made Blaine feel more guilty.

"I umm… my friend Taylor and I… we just got…thrashed and I-"

"Blaine," Kurt squeezed his hand. "You don't have to do this. If you're not ready, or you just can't ever do it or you need to write it down or… anything. It's fine. If you… whatever you want is fine."

"I just don't want it to be weird for you to touch me."

"It's not, Kurt answered immediately. "Not weird. It's not weird at all. I just… I thought about someone hurting you and I got… distracted."

"It's... not even as much about getting hurt as it is about everything else that…" Blaine stopped and grit his teeth in frustration. If there was anyone he could talk to about this it had to be Kurt and he just couldn't get the words out. "I don't mind you touching it," He finally finished. "It's okay."

"Alright."

"I'm sorry. Maybe… maybe we can try to talk about this some other time."

Kurt nodded, squeezed his hand even tighter and leaned forward to kiss him. Blaine clapped his hands gratefully around Kurt's head.

Kurt made this small…noise that Blaine couldn't describe when he pulled back. They sat for a moment, no sound but the very quiet hum of the song still playing.

Blaine cleared his throat. "I've got less… terribly depressing songs on here." He reached out for his I-pod. Kurt stopped him.

"No. It's a good night for this song."

* * *

><p>Burt steeled himself.<p>

He could do this.

It was 2011. The stigma was going away. He'd been having sex by Kurt's age.

And he'd done some damn stupid things too. And he wouldn't have if his dad had sat him down and had the sex talk with him. If he'd been able to go to his dad with questions.

God, he hoped Kurt didn't have questions.

And Blaine was a much more… gentlemanly guy that Burt had been at seventeen.

And Kurt wasn't a girl.

Really not a girl, if Blaine's angry outbursts meant anything.

Nope. Not thinking about that.

Burt was just going to make sure that the boys had condoms and hope the conversation died a quick and merciful death, then go watch baseball in the den and pretend it hadn't happened.

This was so much worse than the _theoretical_ sex talk.

The front door creaked open and Burt was hit with the sudden realization that he had not prepared for Kurt _and_ Blaine both coming back after rehearsal and that he was standing in the kitchen with a box of condoms in his hand.

For a moment he considered just dropping the box in the junk drawer and pretending that he didn't know anything, but he grit his teeth, told himself to man up and took a step toward the living room. If Blaine was here, this applied to him too.

Kurt walked suddenly into the kitchen, looking tired. Burt quickly lowered his hand, pressing the pack of condoms between his hand and his leg and awkwardly making his way to the table.

"Hi, Dad," Kurt said, pulling the fridge open and taking out his pitcher of sun tea. He looked over at him again and frowned. "Is everything alright? You look… odd."

"Umm… yes. Actually. We… can…" Burt cleared his throat. "Bring your tea over her, let's… just talk about something quick."

He could see Kurt draw into himself and Burt mentally kicked himself. This wasn't supposed to have sounded like the end of the world.

As much as he'd wanted to over the last week, he had still, in the end, decided not to ban Blaine from the house and insist that absolutely all interaction between he and Kurt took place from opposite ends of the kitchen table with either Carol or himself present.

He was being reasonable. He'd been a teenager once too, he wasn't going to be a doom and gloom hypocrite about it. Especially because he had sat down after Blaine and his mother had left and thought about it. He'd realized that he wouldn't have had the same gut reaction to finding out that Finn was having sex. His initial reaction would have been a lot closer to "kids will be kids". Even though Rachel was better than any of the other girls Finn had hung around, Burt probably still would've bought the condoms a lot quicker, but it wouldn't have been the jolt it was with Kurt. And that wasn't fair.

Kurt poured two glasses of tea, and set one in front of Burt before sitting down across the table.

"What's wrong?"

Burt gulped his tea. Across the table Kurt did the same. Burt took a deep breath, set the condoms on the table and slid them over. Kurt choked.

"Look, I know that you and… Blaine… are… engaging in… activities that-"

Kurt was still choking on his half-swallowed tea and Burt stopped as his son hurriedly tried to take another sip to chase the one that had gone down the wrong pipe.

"Just… I'm not happy about this. And I don't think under my roof is the place for this. And I should have gotten you a freakin' two door car, but I was your age once and I-"

"Dad!" Kurt huffed, wide eyed and splotched white and red. "We aren't… we don't…" Kurt shook his head as he tried to talk.

"Kurt- I'm basing this whole thing on the idea that you're mature enough to make this decision. Don't lie to me and prove me wrong."

"I'm not!" Kurt insisted.

"I saw you," Burt said and Kurt's eyes blew out wider than he'd thought they could go. "When Carol let Blaine stay in your room I saw you running down the hallway in nothing but your robe. So don't-"

"Blaine and I are not having sex," Kurt said, holding a hand out in front of him as though to ward away the condoms.

"Then what are you doing naked in your room?" Burt challenged, then put his hand to his forehead. "No. Nope. Don't answer that. Take the condoms and don't answer that."

"We aren't doing anything that we those for," Kurt said, hands at his temples and eyes trained on the empty spot of table in front of him. Condom adjacent. "Oh my god. I promise."

"Condoms are very important," Burt told him. "I read all the pamphlets. Apparently you need condoms for everything these days. Just take them."

Kurt reached out, pressed his index finger down at the tip of the box and dragged them across the table as though afraid to even touch them in front of Burt. "Fine. Just… stop saying condoms. I'm going upstairs and I am never coming back down." He stood, ready to make good on the threat.

"Okay… and umm… there is other stuff that I know you-"

"Dad, I am begging you not to talk anymore. Okay? Begging."

"Right," Burt blew out a breath. "Okay. Just one more thing."

Kurt turned around, holding the condoms out away from his body the way that he'd carry a garbage bag or a spider squashed in a tissue.

"If you…later on, when you are… you know that you can come to Carol and I… if you need anything. Right?"

"Thanks, Dad," Kurt said. He was talking mostly too the ceiling and he spun and ran directly afterward.

Burt dropped his face into his hands, recovered for a few moments, then took his tea into the living room.

* * *

><p>"Okay," Dave started carefully. "Santana? I know this is-"<p>

"Dave? Save me the pacification. What is wrong with this girl? She's hot, she sings, she likes cheerleading-"

"Santana, she's Brittany 2.0 and you know it. She's even blonde and her hair is in a high pony in her picture. This was supposed to be about getting over Brittany, not about finding a substitute to keep you occupied until Brittany comes back. You said you were sick of pining and, I'm sorry, but this is a creepy extrapolation of pining."

Santana tapped her fingers against her laptop. "She doesn't look that much like Brittany."

"Yes she does," Dave assures her. Because she does. When Santana first brought the picture up on screen, he had been fully expecting a freak out about Brittany not dating Santana, but having a dating profile on a young lesbians site. But no, it had just been a creepy doppelganger. She was even named "Tiffany" which, in David's book, was pretty much the same thing.

"All the other girls on here are hardcore, short-hair, softball league, dog owning, golf-playing, jimaca eating, capital L lesbians. The couple of pretty girls on here are edging up into Sugar Momma age," Santana complained.

"Okay, seriously, you need to calm down. There were a couple of cute high school girls in there."

"You were right. You are the worst person in the world for this," Santana said bitingly, reaching across the coffee table and grabbing a slice of the pizza she had ordered for them. She'd griped about Dave asking for less cheese and getting some veggies on it, but hadn't actually argued. She had grabbed one of his love handles and tweaked it, but Dave had come to count that sort of thing as affectionate coming from Santana.

"Here, give me the computer."

"After I have been so very nice about you getting all flushed and proper about cute boys, you are not going to do something stupid like pick out someone with a mullet but hopefully a nice personality and email them before I can stop you."

"No. I'm not. I'm going to scroll back to that redhead and convince you that she was cute, and it was just a terrible picture." Dave told her. "Plus she's actually looking for a relationship, not just sex, which is exactly what you need, and she lives in Dayton."

"She has buck teeth and a weird nose."

"It was a crappy webcam picture from a bad angle. Just shut up for a second, okay?"

"How would you know if she was pretty?"

"The football team believes me when I pick out pretty girls. I have correctly identified you as a pretty girl. I'm gay, I'm not blind," Dave sighed, sliding off the couch and sitting by Santana. He wiped pizza grease off his hands with a napkin and scrolled up.

"Pretty?" Santana demanded. "I am a smoking hot sex on a stick stone cold fox, thank you very much."

"And so is this girl," Dave sighed. "Here. Clara Eddings," he announced. "And look, here she is in a sundress and she's gorgeous. Her hobbies include her school band, so she's into music, she plays lacrosse-"

"Super girl gay," Santana sighed.

"Yes, Santana, but so is looking for chicks to date on the internet," Dave said pointedly. Santana narrowed her eyes at him in her 'You win and I hate you for it' look. "She's in band, you're in glee club. She's in lacrosse, you're in cheerleading. You like most of the same shows and movies, and- here's the ta-da factor- she just got out of a relationship and is looking to go slow. Email this girl. Email her now or I will rub a slice of this pizza on your face."

Santana looked at him with lips like she was sucking lemons, then at Clara's profile, then back at him. "Fine. Take my picture." She handed him her phone.

"Okay. Give me a nice smile and try not to look like a cat in heat."

Santana laughed, Dave clicked the picture. She looked nice. Not overly sexy, not cheesy or fake. Just nice.

"Here."

Santana wrinkled her nose. "No take another one, I look like a dork."

"You look beautiful and you are sending this picture to a beautiful girl, who's going to love you. Do this now."

"You are very pushy for a boy who blushes at shirtless pictures," Santana said, copy-pasting Clara's email address into a new message. "Why aren't we finding you a boy-toy?"

Dave sighed and set down his coke. "Santana, I'm currently trying to put my academic life back together after my grades tanked and I was expelled for a death threat, which is having a pretty serious impact on my secret attempt to find a college so far away that I can easily lie to my family about everything for at least four years. On top of that I've been avoiding all of my football team friends because they stress me out so much, and I've only got two more months left before that is going to bite me in the ass. And I can't tell anyone but you what the big core problem behind this is. If I add the stress of trying to find, let alone hide a boyfriend on top of all of that, my head will explode and I _will _die," he explained calmly.

"Sounds like you could use some stress relief," Santana grinned at him, clearly going for salacious, but her nerves ruined it.

"And that's a conversation we still aren't having," Dave sighed.

Santana gave him a sad sort of look and set her hand on his knee. "Dave… you're okay, right? Like this whole no sex thing… it's just nerves, right? Cause if it was more than that… we could talk about it. You can trust me."

"What do you mean more than that?"

"Like…" Santana looked uncomfortable talking about sex and Dave wondered what he could have possibly stepped in to make that happen. "Okay fine… if something… you know…_ happened_ to you, you could tell me."

Dave was so surprised he choked. If he were Santana that would never have even occurred to him. Who did she think would've hurt him? "No, no, no. Santana. Come on. It's not like that."

"Alright," she said. "If you say so."

"Nothing happened to me." He shrugged. "I don't think I was ever even in the same room as Mr. Ryerson."

Santana laughed.

"Look. You're right. It's a little more than nerves, but I don't know how to explain it, and I don't really want to talk about it, right now. Especially when you're obviously just trying to put off emailing the redhead." Santana rolled her eyes. "But no one… you know, did anything to me. I promise."

Santana looked like she wanted to argue, but just bit her lip, turned back to her computer and asked, "How do you spell Wednesday? I always forget where the silent 'n' is."

Dave spelled it out for her. Santana sat staring at what seemed like a completely reasonable email. Friendly but not too friendly. Short but not too short.

"Come on. You can do this. She's not going to say no. You are perfect and beau-"

"Shut up. Okay, just-" Santana held a hand out to him, as though holding him back. "It's…not about that."

Dave set his hands on her shoulders and, after a moment's hesitance, kissed her on the temple. "Okay. What is it about?"

"This is a big step. I've known Brittany…. Forever. When this all started happening with her… it was fine. It was safe and I just… this is different. This is something that I'm going out looking for." Santana leaned back against the couch. "I'm looking for a girlfriend. I like girls, I want to date girls. You're right. Clara is hot." She blew out a raggedy breath. "And she seems like someone that could be my girlfriend."

"Santana, I think you should do this."

"Why won't you do it?" Santana asked.

"Because I'm not ready," Dave said. "I wish I was. I wish… I want all those things you talk about with Brittany. I can see Kurt and Blaine's stupid doe eyes. I want that. I just-"

He was interrupted by Santana's phone blaring loudly into the night. Santana grabbed it and stared at it.

"Who is it?" Dave asked.

Santana scoffed. "It's Quinn." She looked at her phone in confusion, looked back at Dave, then reached over and hit send before answering the call.


	20. I'm So Sorry

Okay, I've been trying to write back into this story and I can't get into the headspace and I have so much life stuff going on, but tonight's episode and ALL THE KAROFSKY FEELS! I wrote this back in August, I wanted it out there. So here are the extra pieces of Our Last Summer

* * *

><p>"Whoa, dude," Eric said, hanging up his shirt and whistling as Blaine tugged his sweaty T-shirt off and fanned himself with it pointlessly. "What did you do?"<p>

Kurt froze for a moment, before trying to pretend that he hadn't and going back to pulling his own disgusting sweat soaked costume off.

Blaine gave Eric a completely mirthless smile. "Nothing I'd like to repeat," He finally answered. He was purposefully avoiding Kurt's gaze, and Kurt felt his stomach clench. Eric was sweet but dumb, and Dave and Brett were watching Blaine with the same curious expression boys got when they were looking at something inexplicably interesting, like a squashed bird in the road or a car wreck.

"Serioulsy, dude-" Brett started.

Dave choose that moment to attempt another stage of his weirdly hesitant attempt to befriend Blaine.

"Guys," he laughed. "Come on. Didya seem him tonight? Clearly Blaine's got a gangster past. He probably got it in some sort of epic ballet fight."

Brett and Eric both snort, Kurt almost lets himself relax until he sees the weird way Blaine's looking at Dave.

"I got a bottle broken over me and got drug through the glass," Blaine says, quiet, but firm. His voice cuts right through the tired chortling of their costars and the dressing room goes silent. Kurt shivers. He's seen Blaine like this. Blaine's about to snap.

"Bl-" Kurt starts, but his voice is overpowered by Dave's horrified. "What?"

"I got a bottle broken over me," Blaine repeats. "And I got the shit beaten out of me. And I got drug through broken glass."

"What?" Dave repeats.

"Why?" Eric demands.

Blaine answers, still facing Dave. "I went to a dance. With a guy." He doesn't look mad, he looks sort of… gone. Pale, but sort of calm. It's absolutely terrifying. Kurt's hands are shaking as he pulls his button up off its hanger.

"What?" Dave says again.

* * *

><p>Dave had a very clear plan for the rest of his night. The bottle of whiskey he'd asked Mark to buy for him was still hidden in his closet and his parents should be out all night. He was going to open his windows, turn his fan all the way up to keep the clean air circulating, and then he was going to get very, very drunk, watch Harry Potter on his computer, and wish that he was someone else.<p>

His throat and eyes burned again, and he wiped his nose on the back of his hand, then wiped his hand off on his shorts and told himself again that he hadn't actually ever planned to hurt Kurt that badly.

Yeah… he'd hated him and wanted to just… take things that weren't Kurt's fault out on him. He'd wanted to terrify him so that he wouldn't say anything… he'd wanted to punish him for knowing the truth but he'd never… yeah shoving him into lockers had probably hurt him…. but not….

He would never have put Kurt in the hospital. He'd never been able to even punch Kurt. He'd… he'd never actually hit Kurt. He'd tried. That wasn't…. that was Azimio. That wasn't him. He would never have….

But if Azimio had decided one day that the faggot needed to be taught a lesson. If Azmio, or Strando or someone…. If they had decided to wait for Kurt after Prom… if they'd had a couple drinks and decided to… break a bottle over him, kick him, _beat him_… Karofsky would have been too afraid of what they'd say to stop them.

He knew it.

If any of the foot ball players had decided that it had to be done, Karofsky would have been too afraid of being called a fag to stop them. Stop them from giving Blaine another scar. Stop them from putting Kurt in the hospital.

Kurt and Blaine, who had kept his secret for months, Kurt who had tried to help him, Kurt who had chewed his boyfriend out for yelling at Karofsky, who, if someone had been watching, would have ground glass into Kurt's skin and left him bleeding in the parking lot.

Karofsky set his hand on the doorknob, then set his face to the door and let out a sob.

He was a monster. He would have hurt Kurt. He was part of the reason Santana had been afraid to let Brittany ask her to Prom. He'd made the two people who had given him the most as afraid as he was.

He just wanted to sink right down into hell and be done with it.

Well… a bottle of whiskey was close enough.

He pushed the door open and went directly upstairs, not even pausing to take off his shoes. He threw his bedroom door open and froze.

His mom was sitting on his bed, clean and freshly made, with a pile of glossy paper on her lap, and a Kleenex in her hand.

His heart jolted in his chest. He wasn't alone. She was going to see his face.

His mother jumped, with a little gulping noise and looked up from the admission packets on her lap.

New York. Maine. California. Florida. Oregon. Maryland. Absolutely nowhere within a thousand miles of Lima. Hidden under his mattress. He'd already had forms filled out for all of the ones in California. He'd told his parents he was only really considering UNO and Ohio State. That the farthest away he was considering going he would still at least be with his brother so that they could come home together.

"David," she said, hurriedly scooping all of the packets off her lap and setting them on his nightstand. "I'm sorry, I promise I wasn't snooping," she touched her Kleenex to her face. "I just… I came up to grab your sheets to top off a load of laundry… and… honey what's wrong? Have you been…" she looked him over, seeing his red, swollen face, "Honey, have you been crying too?"

All he wanted was to deny it, but he knew that was stupid. He'd been sobbing like a little girl with a skinned knee for the last hour. He'd been crying for so long that his eyes hurt. And now he was going to start again. Now he'd even made his mom cry.

"Umm…" he started, his voice so rough it shocked him. "No… I mean… yeah, but it's…." he sniffled.

His mom made a sort of miserable laughing sort of noise, crossed the room and hugged him. "Oh, Honey, what's the matter?"

And he just broke.

He squeezed her close, shocked at how odd it felt. How small she felt. How long it had been since he had just _hugged his mom_ and just sobbed.

"David?" she asked, "It's okay… come on what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," he sobbed.

"For what, sweetheart? Why are you so upset?"

"I'm so sorry," he managed again.

"About the colleges? No, honey, no it's okay. I was just… I didn't know you wanted to go so far away." She laughed awkwardly, and Dave was so ashamed of himself he just couldn't handle it. "You can go where ever you want, David, it's okay, we want you to be happy. You know that right? Your father and I just want you to be happy."

Months and months of driving himself crazy were all ganging up on him at once. He buried his face in her shoulder and bawled.

"Shhh, shhhh," she hushed him, "Come on, honey, you're scaring me, what's going on?"

"Mom?"

"What is it, David?"

"Mom, I'm gay."

She stiffened in his arms and her hand stopped moving on his back. He panicked and pulled away, but she grabbed his arm.

"Wait." She kept holding onto his arm, her gripped tightened, but she didn't say anything and Dave could feel his heart beating like it was trying to rip out of his chest and run.

"You're… you're what?"

"I'm…" Dave tries to think of a way to backpedal, shove it off on panic or say he's drunk or something, _anything_… but there's no way to take it back.

"You're gay?" she asks in a whisper.

"Mom, I'm so, I'm so sorry," he starts.

She grips his arm harder, so hard it's actually starting to hurt. He pulls it back, but she doesn't let go.

"I'm so sorry," he repeats.

"No, sweetheart, no… it's just… it's …Shh, shhh…"

He clung onto her and cried, until he seemed to be done, apologizing a few more times. She wiped her eyes when they pulled apart.

"We need…" She started, patting at his arm dazedly. "We need ice cream. You want to go get ice cream, David?"

David wiped his eyes and nodded.

Dave was surprised at how numb he felt. The constriction, the fear, the desire to just curl up inside himself was starting to go away, but it didn't feel like relief yet. They were about halfway to the Dairy Queen and his mom hadn't said a word. The radio wasn't on. The only sound was the wind humming across the open sunroof. His mom sniffled a couple more times before they finally pulled into the Dairy Queen parking lot.

"Let's eat out in the car," she said as she unbuckled her seatbelt, "Privacy. What should I get you?"

"Hot fudge sundae," Dave said quietly.

"Okay, honey, wait here."

He watched her walk toward the Dairy Queen and saw where she joined the line that was spilling a little ways out of the door. It occurred to him suddenly, that he could just bolt. That he could just run and not have to deal with this. Not have to deal with the consequences of… coming out to his mom.

Heat and chills shot over his skin, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The seat belt caught the corner of his phone.

That's what he needed. He glanced at the line, where he could still see his mom squarely at the end of it, and he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He hit speed dial one, put it to his ear, and dropped his forehead to his hand, praying for an answer.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Santana?" Dave couldn't believe how rough he sounded, he sounded like he'd gotten a cold and then been kicked in the throat.

"Dave? What's wrong?"

"I told my mom, Santana."

There was a long pause.

"Santana?"

"Did you tell her what I think you told her?"

"I just… I couldn't not tell her anymore. I couldn't do it."

"Are you alright? Do you need me to come get you?" She demanded.

"I don't know yet."

"Where are you?"

"Umm… Dairy Queen."

"Dairy Queen? What happened when you told her?"

"She… she was crying because she found my college applications, and I was crying cause… I don't… I can't talk about it yet. Rehearsal was bad. And she hugged me and said she wanted me to be happy and I just…said it."

"What did she do?"

"She _cried_, Santana. And now we're getting ice cream."

"Where is she?"

"She's in line. I'm in the car. Shit, Santana, she hasn't said anything. I'm so… I'm so scared."

"I'll come get you. I can park out under that street light that blinks."

Dave considered it. "No, you don't have to do that. Just… please keep your phone on you."

"Of course."

The driver's door opened and Dave jolted. He hadn't even seen his mom come back.

"I have to go."

"You will call me later tonight."

"I will. Bye." Dave turned his phone off and shoved it back in his pocket.

"Who was that?" His mom asked, handing him his sundae.

"Santana."

They sat in silence for a little while longer, Dave picking at his sundae, but not eating any of it.

"Okay… just… David, I- I don't know where to start. I never… you have a girlfriend."

Dave settled back in his seat, moving his feet around, trying to get comfortable, but not able to find any way of sitting that didn't leave something jabbing into his side, or didn't bend his neck forward at an odd angle.

"Santana's not really my girlfriend."

"She isn't?"

"She figured it out. What I was. And she wanted to be prom queen, so she told me that if I didn't pretend to date her she'd tell people the truth."

"David-"

"No… that's… that makes it sound worse than it is. We're… there was more to it than that…I really like her. Just not… she's my best friend, she's just not my girlfriend."

"Do you have a… is there a… a boy?"

"No!" David answered immediately, vehemently.

"Okay. Okay, sweetheart." She took a bite of her own ice cream. "When did all this start?"

"With Santana? A couple weeks before prom."

"No… not that. When did you… when did you start thinking you might be… gay."

The word didn't burn in his ears the way he'd expected it too. He'd gotten a little more used to it now that he and Santana threw it around sometimes.

"I don't know… I think… maybe the beginning of high school. A little junior high, but high school, mostly." Out of the corner of his eye he saw his mom cover her mouth. "This last year has been…" he gulped, his throat clenched. "This last year has been so hard."

"Is that… is this why you, your grades, the bullying, getting expelled, was this… was this what was going on?"

"Yes."

And then his mom brings up the words he knew were coming, even though he'd hoped so hard that they wouldn't.

"Kurt Hummel."

He choked up a little.

"Is this…is this why you were… did something happen with Kurt Hummel?"

"He was just…" Dave cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. "He's so… He just… he doesn't care. Everyone knew and he didn't care and I… I just hated him for that. And Azimio wanted to harass him and I just… I just _hated_ him. I never meant for it to get that far, but after I…" Dave clamped his mouth shut, sniffled and dug his spoon into the ice cream, pulling back a spoonful of fudge to give himself some time.

"After you what?"

Dave let out a shaky breath, and debated… he might as well say it. She already knew about… the gay thing, what was the point in keeping anymore secrets? Did he really want to risk having it come out later? Having this conversation again?

"I didn't mean to. I didn't want to…do that to him. I've told him I was sorry… but it was… I don't know why I did it."

"David, what did you do?" He mom demanded, soft and scared.

"I… he was walking down the hall with his phone, and he just… he was wearing his stupid clothes and he had this big grin on his face, and I shoved him into a locker. He _freaked_ out. He chased me down the hallway to the locker room, and he just… he _lost_ it. He was just screaming at me, and I told him I was going to _punch_," Dave's voice breaks over the word, a flash of Blaine's back and the look on Kurt's face in the locker room hitting him hard. "I told him I was going to punch him, and he didn't back down. He was all like _"Then do it! Just hit me!" _and he got in my face and he was calling me all these things and I… I just…. _I kissed him_," Dave muttered miserably.

His mom gasped and he kept going. "And he looked at me… like… god I don't even know. It was awful, I wish I'd hit him instead, it wouldn't have been as bad, and then I…" No, he can't tell her that he went in for another kiss, that there was some weird mash up of Kurt's cologne and the smell of the locker room and even though his voice was high and he dressed like a girl, there was something so masculine about him in that moment. It's already too much. "And he shoved me away, and I left. And I… I couldn't think about anything but what might happen if he told someone. I was … I was more terrified than he was. And he brought his boyfriend to school and they tried to talk to me and I shoved Blaine into a wall and I started just… doing these awful things just to scare Kurt. I didn't mean it when I threatened him… but I knew he'd believe it. I wouldn't have… I wouldn't have hurt him. I wouldn't… have… hurt him."

He breaks down crying again and his mom waits for him to calm down before she says.

"So… Kurt Hummel knew… and never said anything."

Dave only manages a sob, but it's a sob of affirmation.

"He said he won't… won't tell anyone, but he's trying to get me to join… PFLAG. He said I need to be educated."

"Did you…do you…like him?"

"No!" Dave says again. "Not like that. No."

"Okay. What is PFLAG?"

"Umm… I'm not sure. It's like a group for… for… gay people and their families."

"Oh."

"Please don't tell Dad," Dave begged suddenly.

"Honey-"

"No! You can't… you can't say-"

"I think-"

"No!"

She grabbed his elbow, "Okay… okay. I won't."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Really? You won-"

"I won't say anything."

Silence settled over the car.

"Mom? Are you… are you okay with this?"

"I don't like keeping secrets from your father."

Dave swallows hard. "No…with… with what I asked you not to tell him. Cause you… you keep crying."

His mom bit her lip, sniffled again, then set her dish on the dashboard and reached over to grab his hands. "I just. I had no idea. You've been having all these problems and you… and we didn't know and you're… you're in football and you have a girlfriend and I just… I don't know what to think."

"I'm so sorry," Dave tells her in a low broken voice. This is why he didn't say anything.

"No… sweetheart… don't be… don't be sorry. That's not what I meant. It's… it's going to be okay."

"Can we go home now?"

"Okay. Sure."

They drive back was just as long as the drive there, and the sugar and hot fudge was sitting sickeningly in Dave's stomach when they pulled into the garage.

"I'm going to go up to my room."

"Okay."

"Promise you won't tell Dad?"

"I promise, David," his mom said again.

"Okay. Thanks."

Dave was about to turn around, go up to his room, get back to his sobbing and whiskey plan and call Santana, when suddenly his mom stepped forward and hugged him.

"I promise this is going to be okay. I love you David."

"Love you too, Mom."

She squeezed him around the chest and he went upstairs, already dialing Santana's number.

* * *

><p>"It's a little late for Kurt to still be out isn't it?" Carol asked.<p>

"He called. Apparently something happened at rehearsal and most of them went to Breadstix. I think they're sort of still recovering from… the thing with Blaine's father."

"Right," Carol nodded. "How long are they going to be out?"

"Breadstix is open till midnight. They might go over to Rachel's house."

"You know… they're good kids. I bet the whole debacle over Blaine putting his foot in his mouth has terrified them out of being _inappropriate_… I know for a fact that Rachel's dads are home tonight. How about you let the boys stay out past curfew… and we take advantage of an empty house?"

Burt chuckled as the phone rang. "You have brilliant ideas and great timing. I'll tell them they can stay out, but I'm going to tell them it was my idea."

"Works for me."

Burt went over to the phone, glancing down at the Call ID before picking it up.

_Karofsky, Paul D._ shone up at him. His heart kicked up and he grabbed the receiver.

"This is Burt Hummel."

"Mr. Hummel," a tearful, female voice spoke, "I'm… I'm so sorry, I've just realized how late it was. I just…you were the only person I could think of to call. I'm Cindy Karofsky. David's mother."


	21. Wait Come Sit with Me

And the Kurt and Santana Parts

* * *

><p>Carol leaned back against the cupboard, all too aware of her position as the step mother. An integral part of the Hudmels, as the she'd heard the Glee kids calling them, but too new an addition to the Hummels to step into the argument exploding between father and son in the kitchen as more than a referee. Even poor little Blaine had more of a part in this than she did.<p>

Blaine was watching Burt like a train wreck. A train wreck about to happen. To him.

He gulped as Burt turned toward him, apoplectic with rage.

"Did you know about this?"

Blaine froze, eyes as wide as dinner plates, but Kurt somehow managed a rigidly reasonable tone.

"I called him after it happened. He calmed me down and we tried to approach Dave at school the next day."

Burt brought his fist down on the counter so hard the plates in the cupboard rattled. Blaine flinched, Carol covered her mouth. Kurt closed his eyes for a moment, but didn't back down.

"What the_ fuck_ were you _thinking_?" Burt demanded.

"Burt-" Carol cut in, trying to bring down the heat a little bit.

"No. _No_, he gets attacked, assaulted, threatened, and he doesn't tell a teacher, he doesn't tell us, he doesn't-"

"Who was going to take my side?" Kurt spat. "He threatened to _kill me_ and got away with it. The faggot-"

"Don't use that word, Kurt!"

"_The faggot _tells everyone the jock kissed him. Who was going to listen to me?"

"I would've! You should have told me how bad it wa-"

"YOU HAD JUST COME OUT OF A COMA!" Kurt shrieked.

Every sound in the kitchen stopped except the soft, pervasive "piiiiing" of Kurt's voice ringing in the glass fixtures.

"So I told Blaine. Because no one else would have understood what it meant. No one else would understand what was going on in his head. If I had told anyone else, they would have said something and then who knows how he might have reacted."

"He's right," Blaine managed, voice shaking, "No one else gets it. Wes was with me when I got Kurt's call and even he was trying to get us to go to tell someone else. And if we had Dave might have actually k… done what he threatened."

"Kurt," Carol started, dropping her hand from her mouth and stepping forward into the kitchen a little further, placing herself between Kurt and his father. "That's why we needed to know about-"

"No! He couldn't have handled anyone finding out and-"

"It's not your job to protect him swee-"

"This is why I didn't tell anyone else!" Kurt growled, throwing his arms out in frustration. "None of you understand that this was about protecting _myself_. No matter what happened it would have be _on me._ Because I am the _only out gay kid_ at school. This is _Ohio_. If anyone even believed he kissed me, they would have thought I made him do it. That _I'd_ attacked _him_ somehow. Even if someone had seen him, and outed him, I'd get the blame for making him gay and the football team would have beaten the shit out of me. And these are best case scenarios. We all know what was happening last fall. What's still happening. If Dave Karofsky had swung from a rafter somewhere, the football team would have had me swinging from a tree the next day."

Carol looked down at the floor, it was too much to hear her seventeen year old step son logically laying out the life and death dangers of his attempt to go to high school.

"Kurt," Burt started, his voice hoarse, "That's not… you didn't have to.. someone would've-"

"Umm…. He's right about that too," Blaine said, eyes clenched like he hoped he wasn't talking out loud. "And… you wouldn't have…my friend Taylor and I wound up in the hospital freshman year and the guys that put us there just got community service. 50 hours. Picking up litter. One day's suspension. No one… cares."

Burt stares at Blaine. Kurt clears his throat.

"So I would appreciate it if people would just give the fucking jock some breathing room, because the thing that is actually going to make me safer, is him coming out on his own, so that I'm not the only one at that school. So that the representation of an entire group of society doesn't fall on my shoulders. And the only thing that is ever going to make that school safe for anyone else is if I can get Dave, and maybe the couple other kids who hang around watching me get thrown against lockers to come out. We need numbers to stay out of the line of fire. We need to establish a PFLAG chapter, so that more kids could be educated and more kids could come out. That would be a lot more productive than continuing to have a screaming match in the kitchen over things it's too late to fix."

Kurt had been crying since he'd screamed at his father about his coma, but his voice only broke on that last sentence.

"Blaine."

Blaine jumped at his name.

"Get your keys we're going to go get some air," Kurt said, crossing to the kitchen door and ducking right out of it. Blaine stood and dug his hand in his pocket, freezing as Burt shouted, "Kurt Lars Hummel don't you dare leave this house!"

"Blaine!" Kurt bellowed from the front door.

"Go ahead, sweetheart" Carol said quietly waving Blaine out of the kitchen.

"Sorry, Mr. Hummel," Blaine muttered as he spun and ran for the living room door. He froze before he opened it, tapped his fingers against the frame and turned back around.

"You can't tell Finn about this," he said apologetically, then escaped into the living room.

"Let them go, Burt," Carol says. Burt nods, but turns and kicks the cupboard so hard the molding breaks off the side. He curses and grabs his foot.

"Burt! Relax. Sit down. Stop trying to destroy the kitchen."

"Fuck, that kid pisses me off."

"Of course he does. He's just like you."

"No, he's not. That's the problem. He doesn't tell me shit because I can't understand anything about his life. Christ, Carol, he sat down and figured out the odds of getting hanged at school. Can you even imagine sitting down and thinking that through at his age?"

"He was being figurative."

"Blaine's got a scar on his back bigger than my hands," Burt huffs holding them out thumb to thumb "Didn't sound like Blaine thought he was being figurative." Burt brings his fist down on the table again, nowhere near as hard as he had before. "I can't believe he's kept this a secret for months."

"I can. Burt… Will Shuester said the first thing he said at the hospital was "Is he dead?". He was a ghost when you were… in a coma. He didn't talk. He didn't eat. He barely let anyone talk to him. He sent Mercedes home twice when she came to see him." Carol set her hand over his forearm, "He's probably…bitching to Blaine right now about how you getting this riled up now isn't good for your heart."

"I am his FATHER!" Burt bellowed. "He shouldn't have to protect me!"

"He doesn't know that." Carol said, stroking her hand over Burt's arm as he dropped his face into his hand. "And I think he's right," she said quietly.

"Fine, Carol," Burt growled. "I'll just boil myself some chicken and shuffle around in my slippers and Kurt can run the whole house. There'll be a dress code for dinner by Thursday. Everyone will need to wear a hat designed by Alexander McQueen and knee high boots. And he can run the shop too. He can put sequins on everyone's uniform. The guys'll love that. "

Carol ignored him. "I think he's right about PFLAG. And I think we need to help him set it up. You know what PFLAG is right?"

"Yeah. I looked a bunch of stuff up on the internet when Kurt came out."

"But the nearest chapter's in Dayton," Carol said.

"How did _you_ know that?"

"I looked some stuff up after you proposed," Carol admitted. "Kurt's a great kid, but I knew going into this that he was going to be a little… high maintenance compared to Finn." She and Burt had never talked about Kurt's sexuality in terms of becoming a family. All previous discussions had stalled out around 'Kurt's a great kid'. Carol felt incredibly guilty even mentioning that it had occurred to her having a gay stepson might be hard.

"I think it would help," Carol continued. "Not just Kurt. I think it would help everyone Kurt thinks it would help. I think it would help us. If we had a group it wouldn't always be you versus Figgins to make sure Kurt's safe. You and I could join. Finn. Rachel. Her Dads. I bet we could bring Blaine's parents around. At least Dianne. From what Finn's said we might be able to bring in that Brittany girl that used to be on the Cheerios. At least talk to her. And maybe her parents would join. I hate to say this, but if Puck ever comes back he would join if someone asked him to. He's a delinquent but he's sweet with Kurt and Blaine. Maybe if things went well… Karofsky could come out. Kurt's right. It would give him a place to go. Paul and Cindy might join. That's a community right there."

"I can't believe he didn't tell me," Burt repeated. "God I just… I wish I just had a normal kid."

"Burt!"

"No I mean it. Not… I don't mean straight. Not really. Yeah. Okay. I mean that a little… but just… you know. Actually seventeen. A kid who would need me if he got threatened. Who wasn't so damned… stubborn and independent and sure he could change the world just by yelling at it loud enough."

Carol scooted closer, kissed Burt's cheek and set her head against his shoulder. "He gets all that from you."

* * *

><p>Dave felt a little trapped when his mother walked into the kitchen. He'd been spending basically all of the time that he didn't spend with Santana in his room alone lately. Looking at colleges, dissolving into a panic about what might happen if he didn't get in, and then looking at colleges again. Sometimes when he really started to panic, he even looked into transferring schools, then wondered how on earth he could possibly justify transferring to a new school his senior year.<p>

And now he was in his kitchen. Waiting for his noodles to come out of the microwave. Alone in the house with his mother. Alone in the kitchen with his mother. For the first time since he'd told her the truth.

That he wasn't really dating Santana. That he wanted to go to college far away. And that he was _gay_.

"Hi, sweetheart," she said quietly. Dave nodded at her and she looked at him just a little too long before opening the cupboard and pulling out a mug.

"What are you still doing up?" Dave asked awkwardly.

"Oh. I can't sleep," she sighed. "I know it's silly. I mean most of the year I have no idea where Mark is, but I just have trouble sleeping when you boys aren't back in the house yet." She patted his hand and Dave pulled it back involuntarily. She bit her lip. "It's a mom thing."

She put the kettle on the stove as Dave's noodles beeped. He grabbed the dish and the salt and turned to go upstairs.

"Wait," his mom called. "Come sit with me. Talk to me. Let me make you some tea?"

Dave bit his lip, but nodded. He stepped carefully back into the kitchen, halted and then sat down at the kitchen table. His mom took another mug out of the cupboard and dug out another tea bag.

"So," His mom smiled at him. He gave her a cautious smile back. "So… the play is coming up huh?"

"Yeah. This weekend."

"Well. We'll have to make sure that we get tickets."

"Oh," David flushed. "I don't… I don't know. It's not really Mark's thing."

"Well he can come support his brother. And you're a good singer. Remember all those elementary school choir concerts? You sang in all of those. I don't think I've heard you since your voice changed."

"Mooom," Dave groaned.

"Sorry. Puberty's embarrassing. I forgot." Her smile seemed a little less forced. "So… are things getting better with… umm… that boy. In the play? The one that you… that you upset?"

"Blaine? Blaine's… it's complicated."

"Why?"

"Because he's…" Dave shrugged, hesitant to say this out loud to anyone but Santana. He cleared his throat. "Because he's… Kurt's boyfriend. And he hates me."

"I'm sure he doesn't ha-"

"No. Mom. He does. And it's fine. He deserves to. I get that."

"Now, why would you say something like that?"

"Mom… I just really don't want to talk abou-"

The door bell rang. Dave and his mother exchanged a confused look. It was nearly midnight.

"I'll get it."

Dave pushed his chair back and headed to the front door. No one was on the porch, but when he looked out into the yard he saw a slim figure darting down the walk, the light shining in her black hair.

"Santana?" Dave called. The figure turned around and Dave walked outside. "What are doing here so late?"

"It's… I'm sorry." Her voice sounded raspy and harsh. "I'm sorry, I know it's late. I shouldn't be here, shouldn't've come. This was a mistake."

"What's wrong?"

"It's nothing. I… I … I can't get you in trouble. Your family… this is suspicious."

"Santana? You're scaring me. Come inside."

"No. I shouldn't. What'll your dad think?"

"He's not home, it's just my mom." He grabbed her hand. "You're shaking. Come on. Come inside."

"Dave?" His mom called from the porch. "Is that Santana? What's going on?"

"Come on. Please. What happened?"

Santana gripped his hand tightly. He could see tears on her cheeks in the moonlight.

"My mom found out," Santana whispered. Dave suddenly noticed the backpack over her shoulder.

"Oh my god. Are you-"

"She kicked me out. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

Dave wrapped his arms around her.

"Dave?" His mom called again, stepping out onto the walk. "Is everything alright?"

"What do you want me to say?" Dave whispered.

"Nothing. Please. Nothing."

"Come inside. You can stay here ."

Santana let Dave go and he pulled out of the hug and grabbed her hand, leading her back up to the steps.

"Oh, sweetheart, are you alright?"

"Umm..hi, Mrs. Karofsky," Santana managed.

"Go up to my room, set your stuff down. I'll be right there," Dave told her quietly. Santana gave his mother a paralyzed sort of look. He set his hands at her waist and sort of scooted her. She looked up at him, looking… young and sweet and scared and not at all like Santana.

"I'll be right there."

Santana cleared her throat and hurried up the stairs.

"David Karofsky, what's going on?" His mother demanded.

"I promised her I wouldn't tell you," Dave said helplessly. "I'm sorry."

"You know, all these secrets are going to make me grey."


End file.
